


Living Fragments

by bunniesslaughtered



Series: Fragments [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AI implantation, All Freelancers, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, Halo references, Multiple Personalities, Pre-Canon, Project Freelancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 66,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniesslaughtered/pseuds/bunniesslaughtered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AI is based off a human mind. Whatever can be done to a human mind can be done to an AI. And this ex-Spartan might be the missing data point the Director has been looking for to start Project Alpha. A soldier who has suffered personality fragmentation due to a rogue AI is recruited into Project Freelancer. Features PF cast. </p><p>Part One of the Fragments series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Experimental Data

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Fragments series! Living Fragments is the first of three works, but it is the only one that is currently completed. Rather than uploading a chapter a day, I figured I would post the whole thing in one go and let you read it at your leisure. The next two parts are not complete, so I will be posting as I write.
> 
> Quick note about this series; it started out as just a personal theory on how Alpha was able to fragment into such defined, functional pieces. Then it grew. Like, really, really grew. So while this story does focus on an OC, I try to keep it as close to canon as possible. There will, inevitably, be some discrepancies, for which I apologize.
> 
> Without further rambling on my part, please enjoy Living Fragments!

Aiden Price studied the woman in front of him. She studied him back, expression unreadable. The Director had insisted that she be 'obtained' for study – he had not yet specified the purpose – but had been hesitant to let the so-called reject in for Freelancer training. After watching her physical testing, he had changed his mind.

Aiden found her demeanor…fascinating. He preferred to interact with the Freelancers when they were out of uniform. It made them more human, allowed him to record and analyze their facial expressions to better understand their emotions.

That did not work with Agent Arizona.

Aiden leaned back, pretending to reread her profile, seeing if her countenance cracked when she was not being studied directly. He let the silence stretch for a minute…several minutes…ten minutes. Agent Arizona waited patiently. Back straight. Hands folded politely in her lap. Shifting occasionally, but never fidgeting. Finally, Aiden spoke.

"You were in Spartan Unit Echo-441, is that correct?" he asked her in his soft, comforting voice. Of course, he already knew the answer, but he was not interested in obtaining factual information from the newest addition to the project. He needed to try to see under that mask.

"Correct, sir."

"Please," Aiden said, giving Arizona a small smile, "you need not distract yourself with formalities." He paused as Arizona nodded her understanding. "Very few people are aware of what happened to your squadron. A terrible accident. I understand you lost most of your team."

"Correct." Arizona's face was inscrutable. No anger, no sadness, no regret.

"You have my sincerest condolences."

Arizona nodded her head respectfully. "Thank you, sir."

The action seemed sincere enough. She was not faking her respect for her fallen comrades. But she was not allowing herself to grieve for them, either. "We have obtained footage of the incident, but I would like to hear your account."

The agent before him was silent for a moment. "Where shall I begin, sir?"

"Let's begin with your assignment. Why were you and the remainder of your unit on the ship?" He knew, of course. And she knew that he knew. She was a Spartan. Not one of the originals, psychologically molded from childhood to be the perfect soldiers. But a Spartan nonetheless. She was not stupid.

"We got word the Covenant was looking for something in one of the outer systems. No exact coordinates, so we couldn't just jump to them, we would have to track them – pretty standard. Echo-441 usually went in cryo for the trips that were supposed to take more than a few weeks. Just some support personnel and the ship's AI to stay awake, keep everything running, track the target." She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly, betraying her first hint of emotion in the entire time she and Aiden had been sitting in the room together.

"Of course," Aiden replied, nodding for her to continue.

"Well, one of the things the AI is supposed to do is cognitive maintenance. They engage the neural implants, make sure our brains stay active and healthy during cryo. We usually don't remember any of it when we are reactivated. Only this trip…" she trailed off, studying a space over the counselor's shoulder. He glanced back, but nothing was there. She was just remembering.

"Agent?"

"I'm fine," she replied pleasantly. Her voice held no indications of post-traumatic anxiety or emotional distress. "Just trying to find the right words." She paused for one more moment. "The ship's AI was about six years old. It entered Rampancy during the trip. The reason for the early breakdown was never disclosed to me.

"The AI – we called him Leo, I don't remember his official designation – tried to slow his rampancy by using our neural implants. He…hijacked our minds, I suppose. Started using our brains for his excess thought."

Arizona fell silent. Aiden allowed her to gather herself for a moment. He pressed a button on his console before continuing. "And what were the results of this hijacking?"

"Everyone responded a little differently. Some started waking up and died in their pods. Couple others tried to treat Leo like a normal AI, and he ended up destroying their own thoughts. Most just couldn't distinguish their minds from Leo. Once the onboard personnel realized something was wrong, they started activating everyone." She shook her head. "They were behaving in the way they believed to be logical, but it probably killed most of the team. Once we were out of cryo, people just started grabbing weapons. Some tried to cut out their implants. Some just killed themselves. Leo tried to stop us from hurting ourselves, but he didn't know how to control a human body, much less a whole squadron of them. It was chaos."

The door behind her opened. Arizona glanced over her shoulder. Aiden saw her tensing some of her muscles, ready to jump to action if necessary. Nothing rushed or anxious about the movements. Simply ingrained training. Interesting.

A man in off-white armor slid two mugs onto the table, gave Aiden a courteous nod, and left. Aiden caught him eyeing Arizona curiously, but said nothing.

Arizona raised an eyebrow. "Chamomile," Aiden responded to the unasked question.

Arizona laughed, and Aiden nearly fell out of his chair. He was beginning to come to the conclusion that she _couldn't_ laugh. "You truly are a professional, counselor," she said lightly, her voice finally allowing some emotion to creep forward. Actually, her face wasn't stoic anymore either. She grabbed her mug and took a sip, grinning widely. She looked positively delighted. "Mmmmm, perfect!" she exclaimed. The ex-Spartan leaned her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the drink. "Oh, this is just lovely! You are a wonderful man, Counselor Price. A wonderful, wonderful man."

Aiden leaned back, uncertain what to make of this sudden change in demeanor.

"Anyway, you wanted to know more about me!" she exclaimed, leaning forward. She appeared almost…giddy. Aiden made a small note and nodded for her to continue. "Perfect. Where was I? Oh, yes, Leo. He was actually very caring. He really did try to help us. Poor Leo."

"Could you elaborate on that?"

"Of course!" Arizona opened her mouth, but winced suddenly. "My apologies for my outburst," she muttered, her expression stoic once more. "Which details would you like me to elaborate upon, sir?"

Aiden frowned slightly. The agent before him had returned to her previous, cool state. It was as though her bout of emotion had never occurred. "You said that once your squadron was activated, the scene was chaotic. Do you remember your actions during this time?" He knew she hadn't taken any. But he was curious if she remembered. How much control did the AI have when she escaped?

"I was not released from my pod, sir," Arizona replied. "I was able to view the events through Leo, but I was not activated until after the majority of the violence had ceased."

"So the AI was in your mind for the longest."

"Correct."

"And how did this affect you?"

Arizona frowned, thoughtful. "I'm sure UNSC has explained why I am considered unfit for duty, sir," she said flatly.

Aiden nodded. "I have access to your psychological analysis following the incident, yes. But I am interested in your perspective. What do you feel happened to you?"

Arizona scrutinized the counselor for a moment before answering. "The psychologist said the event triggered an 'underlying, previously undiagnosed multiple personality disorder, with unresolved indications of dangerously aggressive behavior.'" Arizona shook her head. "She was wrong. It's one personality. Leo just split it up. I think he was trying to compartmentalize. It's how the AI's save themselves under severe stress. I do not know if Leo was attempting to rescue my mind or his own, but he split me. My personality and behavior comes out in sections…fragments…compartmentalized pieces."

"What did you say?" Aiden asked sharply.

Arizona appeared mildly surprised. "Which part, sir?"

"You feel your mind is fragmented?"

The new agent was silent for a moment. "I cannot think of a better explanation, sir."

_That explains why the Director was so interested in her._ "And can you control these…fragments?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question."

"Can you decide which section of your personality dictates your actions?"

Arizona nodded. "For the most part. Sometimes a fragment will take over in reaction to a changing environment. Aggression usually appears in a battle situation. Happiness is triggered by unexpected kindness."

"You have names for them?"

"Yes, sir. Though they are simply my own shorthands. They do not necessarily encompass the full extent of the fragment."

Aiden leaned forward. "Have you identified all of these fragments?"

Arizona nodded. "Aggression, happiness, logic, passion, discontentment, and…" she looked down. "Fear," she said quietly.

"Fear is a natural part of being human," Aiden replied calmly. "And you are still human." He paused. "Which portion is in control at the moment?"

"Logic. I suppose you could say it is my default setting."

"And your actions previously were…"

"Happiness," Arizona replied. She gave a very small smile. "I do enjoy chamomile."

Aiden leaned back. "Very well. You have presented me with an interesting puzzle, Agent Arizona. I will have to consider your condition further before making my recommendation to the Director."

"I understand."

"For now, you may return to your quarters. Use the communal space as you will. We will call you when we are ready to speak further." Arizona nodded and stood, moving toward the door. "And Agent," Aiden said, smiling at her when she turned back, "welcome to Project Freelancer."


	2. Meet the Team

It was so fucking loud.

_They are going to find us out! They are going to realize how messed up we really are –_

_We can just beat the living shit out of them. We're still a Spartan –_

_We are going to be nothing more than a tool for them. Logic, you need to let me take over._

_I do not believe that to be a prudent course of action at this time, Discontent._

_Seriously, what will they do to us?!_

_Shut up, Fear._

_I'm being realistic!_ Fear was getting hysterical. Again.

_They are going to be our team. Embrace this! We get another family!_

_And some of the other Agents are pretty hot._

_For the love of…Passion, you sick fuck. We can all see what you're thinking,_ Aggression growled. _You heard Discontent, these people are not our friends. I say we fight one. Show them we aren't a target._

_The chamomile was nice._

Arizona rested her hand against her forehead for a moment. The door to the debriefing room had barely closed when they – _we_ – all started. Logic pushed her way forward, staying in control as she always did.

The worst part was that the voices weren't foreign. They _were_ her. And it wasn't like the old mental arguments she had with herself before Leo had dissected her mind. Her aspects all knew what the others were thinking, but they didn't have the ability to understand one another. On a superficial level, sure, they all knew the meaning behind the messages. But Fear could not comprehend the pulls of love, or the pressures of anger, or the simple 'it will be alright' attitude of Happiness. Aggression always wanted to push forward, to pick a fight. Logic was not containing her own emotions; she simply did not experience them.

So far, Logic and Discontent seemed to be the most powerful of the aspects, able to push forward to be Arizona's 'face' when she needed to interact with other people. Perhaps it did not give the greatest impression of her personality. But then, what _was_ her personality? Sure, she had insisted to Aiden that she was still one person, but could she really claim that when Logic was in control and she could not make an action based on selflessness, or when Happiness was her face and her possible reactions to punch to the face ranged from 'Wow, good punch!' to 'This was a great experience for me!'

Discontent, interestingly, seemed to have the greatest span of the aspects. She was, at her core, discontent with their lot in life, and did anything and everything necessary to improve it. She had absorbed Arizona's ambition, deceit, and creativity. She planned, schemed, and made friends with the full intention of using them and discarding them if necessary. She was cold, calculating. She could be logical, but she was not Logic.

Logic was clean. Sterile. Still an aspect of a human, so she could not run mathematical probabilities like an AI, but she was perhaps more similar to a computer program that a human mind. She used observation and patience to try to fully understand the world around her prior to making a possibly costly decision. Though she could (and did) factor emotions into the choices others would make, and allowed the proper aspect to take over when she was not well-suited for a particular situation, she did not herself feel or properly understand sentiment.

Passion was the opposite. She encompassed emotion, but to such an extreme that it was dangerous to let her take over. Love, hatred, the base, animalistic desires that accompanied a human body – she embraced all of them. Left unchecked, she would probably fuck her way through the ship and then turn everyone's subconscious hatred or love against each other. Not intentionally. She just never received any of the 'control' portion of Arizona's brain.

Aggression only gained control in a fight. But the problem was that Aggression was _always_ trying to fight. Unlike Discontent, she did not do so for a long-term goal or as a calculated necessity. She just craved the competition, the combat, that satisfaction of feeling your enemy's face break around your fist. Arizona's body was stronger under Aggression. Faster. Aggression was the solider.

Happiness was perhaps the most annoying of the lot, because she was always so fucking optimistic, grinning like a shit-faced baby and refusing to accept defeat. She was one of the weaker aspects, thank God, probably because Arizona had never been a particularly cheerful person prior to the split anyway. It was truly incredible, how Happiness managed to always find something to smile about. Even when they had killed Leo – _it's deactivation, you cannot kill something that was never alive_ – while the damned AI was still partially in her head, Happiness had chirped that he wasn't suffering anymore, and now they could pass their information about the incident on to better humanity's collective knowledge!

Fear hadn't wanted to do that. But Fear usually just wanted to find a hole to live in. Logic liked to use Fear to help analyze new situations. Fear always exaggerated, was always anxious and distrustful and uncertain, but she was incredibly good at predicting actual danger. It was always a difference of 'something is probably going to end up going terribly wrong' and 'SOMETHING IS WRONG,' but Fear had an uncanny ability to analyze the world around her and come to a conclusion without even realizing she was doing so.

Despite their differences, they did try to work together. They were the same person, after all. But some things just didn't flow anymore. For instance, Arizona had difficulties making jokes. Humor required a combination of analysis from Logic, a critical view from Discontent, and an ability to laugh from Happiness. Depending on the context of the joke, Passion, Fear, or Aggression may need to lend their understanding as well. But they were separate, as much as Arizona had tried to piece them together into a cohesive unit.

And it was always. So. Fucking. Loud. Six voices constantly chattering away in her head. Whichever aspect was in control usually did a fairly good job of subduing the other five. But it was a constant battle. Passion and Aggression were always fighting to take over, with Logic and Discontent close behind. Happiness never wanted to hurt anyone, but she enjoyed her time in the limelight. In fact, the only one who rarely fought for control was Fear, but Fear was so loud it didn't matter anyway.

It had been better when Leo was still alive. Deranged, but alive. He had provided the necessary pathways for the aspects to work together. Now that he was gone, really gone, Logic was trying to take over that roll. But, being an aspect herself, she didn't manage very well.

So Arizona was left with six renditions of her voice in her head that always had something to say.

She sighed, making her way to the mess hall. She was hungry. She liked being hungry, because it was a physical sensation and the need for food was something all her aspects could fucking agree on.

"Hey hey! What did I tell you?" someone shouted from across the hall as Arizona entered. "We got a new kid!" Arizona looked at the person talking. Tall, light hair, dorky smile. He was sitting at a table with three others. The woman sitting next to him had similar hair and facial structure, but was rolling her eyes. The other two had their backs to her. Dorky waved at Arizona, beckoning her to join them.

 _Let me take over! We can make some friends!_ Happiness chimed.

 _Yes. We can. Logic, give me the body,_ Discontent said quietly.

Logic protested, but Discontent pushed, and finally Logic gave in. _Fine. But please use your discretion._

_Always do._

Arizona walked forward, Discontent's fake smile tugging slightly at the corners of her lips. "Afternoon," she said, pleasant but not friendly.

"You must be the new girl," Dorky said. "Name's North. This is South." He nodded toward the scowling woman next to him. "Wash, and Maine," he continued, pointing to the two men across from him and ignoring South's glare.

"Now you can stop giving me shit about being the baby," Wash muttered to Maine before turning to Arizona, causing him to miss Maine's wolfish grin. "Nice to meet you." He held out a hand.

"Thanks. Designation is Echo-62. Oh, sorry, I meant Arizona. Still getting used to the new name." Arizona smiled. Of course she hadn't actually forgotten about her new name. But it was a convenient way of letting these children know that she was a Spartan. Not some 'new kid' to be bullied or discredited. _I could just punch them,_ Aggression offered.

"Echo, huh?" North looked thoughtful. "Thought they got wiped out by the Flood." Interesting. So even the agents at Project Freelancer believed in the cover story.

"It never got into my pod," Arizona said with a shrug.

"Damn." Wash gave a low whistle. "So how did you end up here?"

"Transport ship."

South snorted. "Great," she muttered. "Another sarcastic bitch. Just what we all need."

"South," North murmured in warning. She scowled.

"If you don't mind," Arizona said, taking a step back, "I am actually hungry." While true, it wasn't the real reason she wanted to leave the group. Aggression was locking onto Agent South, and Discontent was having trouble keeping her down.

Agent Washington stood. "I'll go with you. Maine, want anything?"

Maine glared at Washington.

"They don't serve human organs until next week," Wash replied. "But I'll see what I can find." He grinned at Arizona, making a big show of allowing her to go first. "So, you were a Spartan?" he asked cheerfully as they walked.

 _He seems nice. He could be a good friend,_ Happiness suggested. _Discontent,_ she added quickly, _don't use him for one of your schemes! I can see your plan!_

_If I trust him, I will let you talk to him._

Happiness was quiet for a moment. _You didn't get trust. I'm the only one with trust._

_You know what I mean._

"Yeah," Arizona replied. She had become adept at holding multiple conversations at once; the ones in her head never had the courtesy of stopping for the ones with other actual people. "You?"

Wash waved a hand. "Nothing that interesting. Ever meet the Chief?" He was so casual, so friendly, that even Discontent was having trouble finding any significant faults. Perhaps a little too welcoming.

"Not in person," she replied as she entered the line. The few people in front of her glanced at Wash and stepped back, away from the trays of food. Arizona raised an eyebrow. "You are either really good at making friends or even better at making enemies."

Wash laughed uncomfortably. "Agents don't usually wait," he said, though it was clear he wasn't a fan of this unspoken law aboard the Mother of Invention. He grabbed a tray and stacked it with the brownish concoction labeled 'pork' and a few cups of Jello, moving quickly and muttering thanks to the grunts waiting to the side. Arizona watched them for a moment, uncertain if she would receive the same treatment.

"Agent?" the man closest to her said.

She gave him a small, cold smile and proceeded to fill her tray, not rushing through as Wash had. She nodded her thanks at each individual, but Discontent did not feel the pressures of selflessness or gratitude. "So," she said when she reached Wash, who was standing awkwardly at the end of the line, waiting for her, "what's Maine's story?" She doubted Wash would tell her. The Director had been very adamant about his 'no past lives' rule.

"He's not actually mute," Wash replied with such an air of confidence that Arizona could tell he had this conversation often. _He thought I was asking why Maine doesn't talk._ Interesting. Wash was either so integrated into the Freelancer culture that he did not even consider her question may be directed toward another agent's past, or he was so used to anticipating the needs of others that he assumed she was offended by Maine's silence toward her. "He just doesn't like to talk. Which is fine. Most people here don't like to listen."

Arizona chuckled. "Maybe he's just the smartest one here," she suggested. It was not meant to be in jest, but Wash took it as such, laughing in return. _I will want Maine on my side._

 _Oh! Let me try! I have some ideas!_ Passion cried.

 _NO!_ all the other aspects replied harshly. _Passion, that's just disgusting,_ Aggression added.

_Have you seen that body?_

_We all share the same neurological pathways that relay sensory information. We have all seen 'that body.'_ Logic replied. _However, based on the limited information we have, I believe it prudent for Discontent to attempt initial contact. Should Agent Maine's disposition change as such that you would be better suited for the interactions, we will consider giving you control._

 _Fuck that,_ Discontent growled, drowning Passion out.

They returned to the table. Wash plucked two of the Jello cups off the tray and slid the rest in front of Maine, then quickly insisted that Arizona sit between them in response to Maine's expression. He didn't give the Jello cups back, though. Silently accepting her role as a human meat shield, Arizona took the offered seat.

Wash and North continued to cheerfully assault her with questions – Where did you grow up? (One of the moons) Ever been to Earth? (Once, for the Spartan program) Got a boyfriend? ( _Deadpan stare, following by a startling guttural laugh from Maine_ ) – until she was rescued by the approach of a tall redhead. North and Wash immediately shut up.

"You're the new kid?" the redhead asked, helping herself to Wash's second Jello cup and ignoring his indignant protests.

Arizona eyed the woman. She carried herself with a confident, almost arrogant stride. But she looked like she had earned it. Arizona could tell the woman was entirely lean muscle and reinforced bone, and had surprisingly fewer scars than the rest of her teammates. Her bright green eyes seemed to pierce Arizona to the core, analyzing her and searching for weakness, ready to pounce. "Yeah," Arizona replied, keeping her voice emotionless as possible. It was easy with Discontent in control.

"Great. Your armor is ready. Medical wants to run some diagnostics, then we'll test it. I'll be waiting for you in the training room. You know how to get there?"

"I think so," Arizona lied.

"Alright. South, you're on guide duty." _Well then, no lying to this one. That might make things difficult._

South didn't look happy about her assignment. "What? This is bullshit. Why do I have to be her fuckin' babysitter?"

Arizona closed her eyes for a moment. Aggression _really_ wanted out. Logic was trying her best to hold her back and allow Discontent to focus on interacting with the outside world, but she was starting to lose. _Why is she causing such a reaction?_ Logic inquired.

_She's a bitch! She thinks she's better than us!_

_I don't like her either, Aggression,_ Discontent shot _, but we won't get anywhere if you kill a teammate on the first day. We will fight her in training soon, I am sure. Have some patience._

"I am pretty good with directions," Arizona said as Discontent shifted her attention back to the external conversation, letting Logic attempt to enlist the help of Happiness.

The redhead glared at South, but complied, giving Arizona verbal directions. "If you get lost, F.I.L.S.S. is our onboard AI. She can help you."

"Thanks."

"Sure." The redhead paused. "Name's Carolina, by the way." She held out a hand.

"Arizona," Arizona replied, accepting the handshake.

Carolina did something that looked like an attempt at a smile. "Welcome to Project Freelancer."


	3. Training

"How's the armor feel?"

Arizona rolled her shoulders and neck a few more times, then gave a couple of exaggerated kicks, testing the motion. Maybe a slight limit at the end of the kick, but everything felt snug and secure. It was based off her old Spartan armor, so there shouldn't have been any problems. But something did feel a little…different. She couldn't quite place it.

"Alright," she told Carolina. The team leader was standing near her, clad in her teal (aqua? Seafoam? What color was that, anyway?) armor, watching Arizona test her range. "Something feels different in the helmet."

"Your armor has an enhancement," Carolina explained. "You got…let's see…" She stepped back to the holopad on the wall, using her finger to scan through a file. "Holograms. Huh, that's interesting. CT has that as well." Her face was hidden by her helmet, but Arizona thought she heard a frown in Carolina's voice. "Oh, I see. Yours is a little different. You can make a copy of something you are looking at. It has to be outside the armor."

Arizona tilted her head. Logic was in control. Discontent said she just wanted to watch for a while. "What's CT's?"

"She can make a copy of herself," Carolina replied, not really paying attention to Arizona's question. She was still scanning through her file.

"How do I use it?" Aggression was already poking around inside the helmet, familiarizing herself with the changes in preparation for their fight. _It's not a fight, it's an assessment,_ Logic reminded her.

_An assessment of how well we fight. I want to punch something._

"You don't," Carolina told her simply. "Yours is too complex to use without an AI. Don't try. You will fry your brain." She fell silent for a moment, reading. "Infiltration specialist, huh? So, what, stealth and lockpicking?"

 _That's selling it short,_ Discontent huffed as Aggression roared to life, craving the opportunity to demonstrate her combat skills.

"We were all soldiers first, specialists second," Arizona replied. "I was a Spartan. We –"

"You are a Freelancer," Carolina cut her off heatedly. "Whoever you were, whatever you did, that's not your identity. It just gives you a starting point for who you will become." She stepped back and nodded to one of the viewing windows, where it seemed every agent had gathered to watch the assessment. The Director and Counselor were there as well. "We will begin with weapons. Live ammo first, then you will fight me using paint shots. Pick one weapon when you are ready."

Logic and Aggression got ready. They had worked out a system together that allowed Arizona to fight with the highest level of efficiency and power possible. _Let me analyze the situation,_ Logic told Aggression, _then you can take over._

_Ready._

Arizona stepped forward to the table. Not knowing what she was likely to face, she grabbed the MA5B. Not the most reliable for range, but powerful, fast, and devastating for anything under forty meters. The training room wasn't that big; she should be able to get within range of her targets. "Ready," she said.

Carolina stepped into a hollow and pressed a button to activate the shield, allowing her to view the fight on ground level without danger of being hit. Arizona shifted into a defensive stance as the training room floor shifted, raising in certain places and falling in others, until it was a maze of towers and divots. A series of rotating tracks dropped from the ceiling, turrets attached.

"Round beginning in three…two…one…" said F.I.L.S.S.

Arizona ran forward and pressed her back against one of the towers, letting Logic analyze the pattern of the turrets. She ran between a few blocks, checking to see…yes, they were locking onto her position. No random pattern. Got it. _Switch._

Aggression roared to the front, Logic standing close by and ready to take over when needed. Arizona ran toward one of the blocks and propelled herself to the top, targeting the turrets. _Pop-pop-pop._ One down. She leapt to the next block. _Pop-pop-pop._ Two down. Dropped over the edge as the bullets whizzed toward her, then used her position to leap onto the block behind her. She scanned the room, finding her path.

 _This is a bad idea!_ Fear warned.

Aggression didn't care. The blocks were different heights, but there was one pathway that would take her almost to the ceiling. Logic wanted to test a theory, and Aggression was all too happy to comply with the dangerous proposition. She jumped from block to block, hanging on to the edges with one hand and sending bursts of bullets toward the turret with the gun in her other. She was hit once or twice, but the shield system on her armor prevented the bullets from harming her. Not like anything could harm her when Aggression was in charge! _They are training bullets, Aggression,_ Logic sighed. _Specifically designed to activate the shield system without penetrating it._

Aggression ignored Logic. She was almost to the top. _Get ready._ The last leap would be the hardest. It wouldn't kill her if she slipped, but even Aggression accepted that it would hurt like hell. Aggression needed to make the leap onto the block, let Logic take over to lock onto a target, then jump back in to carry out the plan. Arizona positioned her legs against the side of the block and pushed.

She barely made the leap, grasping the edge of the block and swinging wildly. Any other aspect would have fallen, but Aggression made Arizona's body stronger. She dug in her fingertips and steadied herself. _Switch!_

Logic took over, moving around the block quickly and watching the bullet trails. This block was the tallest; there was extremely limited cover from the turrets. But if she moved to the right, over the top, and dropped off on the other side…got it. She locked onto the target. _Switch._

Aggression executed the maneuver, propelling Arizona over the top of the block. She dropped over the opposite side, using her momentum to swing. She let go of the block, sailing through the air and making Fear scream.

She tucked her gun behind her back and held out both hands. The turret she was aiming for was damaged and did not turn quickly enough to stop her. She grabbed onto the steering mechanism, being careful not to touch the hot barrel, and pulled herself upward. The other turrets stopped. Perfect. Most training courses were programed not to harm the other elements in the synthetic environment, and these turrets were no different. They couldn't shoot at her when she was within a certain distance of another turret.

Arizona could see the other agents pointing and speaking animatedly. Logic took over, and she calmly repositioned her gun, shooting the remaining turrets with short bursts. It took her a few tries to sufficiently damage some of the farther ones, but she succeeded without running out of bullets. When she had finished, she swung forward and landed on the tallest block. Once she was secure, the blocks slowly dropped and the training room floor flattened.

 _That was stupid! You could have gotten us killed!_ Fear scolded.

 _That was awesome,_ Aggression retorted. _Did you see the other agents' faces?_

 _You let us get hit four times,_ Discontent muttered.

Carolina dropped the shield and walked forward, arms crossed. "You got shot four times," she said flatly. _See?_ Discontent said.

"I did," Arizona agreed. Logic wasn't very contrite.

"Hmm." Carolina held two fingers up and glanced at the viewing window. The weapons table lifted from beneath the floor. "Take a knife. We're testing hand-to-hand."

Arizona placed the MA5B back on the table and took one of the combat knives. Carolina took hers and the table dropped back into the floor. "What happened to the paint round?"

"Are you questioning me?"

Arizona blinked. _Uh…Discontent?_ Logic asked. This was a strangely…emotional response to a simple inquiry. And emotions made prediction and analysis of behavior much more difficult. Aggression wasn't lending any insight to the matter; she just wanted to knock Carolina's helmet off so she could use her fist to rearrange those arrogant features.

 _She's trying to knock us off our game,_ Discontent said, flaring up suddenly. Discontent usually left the fighting to Logic and Aggression. _All the other agents were impressed with our display. She is frightened that we will gain more respect than her._

Logic considered letting Discontent take over. This was clearly a power move, and not in her sphere of expertise. _No,_ Discontent replied. _Just be prepared. Analyze her style. We need to win this one. Aggression, that means you have to hang back until Logic has all the data she needs._

 _If we wait for Logic to gather all the data she needs, we will die of old age,_ Aggression spat back. But she also agreed. Quietly. With an extremely irritated grumble.

Arizona held up her hands innocently. "Any ground rules?"

"The knives are dulled, but they can still hurt. No direct punches to the throat. Other than that, anything goes. F.I.L.S.S., start our countdown," Carolina called without waiting to see if Arizona was ready.

"Round beginning in three…two…one…"

Arizona hadn't even fully shifted into a defensive position before she was thrown back, tumbling along the ground. _Get up, get up!_ Discontent cried.

 _What the…_ Arizona stood and barely had time to block Carolina's next kick. Well, 'block' might have been a generous term. It was more like limiting the damage to her arms. Fear started getting louder.

 _All of you, be quiet!_ Logic commanded. She needed to concentrate, to analyze Carolina's fighting style. She stumbled back, trying to give herself some space. Carolina was quick, definitely quicker than Arizona. The speed lent her power, and Arizona was already tired from the previous round. She was not going to be able to match Carolina. But maybe she could use her environment.

There wasn't much. The training room was flat. The walls were curved. The only features were the small viewing enclaves, which didn't lead anywhere. _But they have shields._ Arizona abandoned all pretense of defense and ran.

Carolina gave chase, predictably. Arizona eyed one of the enclaves. With her current velocity, and Carolina's speed, she should be able to jump off the corner and hit the shield button…it might work. It might also slice her in half. But the odds were in her favor.

It was her best shot. _Aggression, you're up._ Aggression was the only one with the speed and immunity to pain necessary for the plan to work.

Aggression gladly took over, giving Carolina a rude gesture as she ran. _That probably wasn't necessary,_ Logic said.

 _Up yours,_ Aggression growled back, running faster. She could hear Carolina on her heels.

Arizona jumped into the enclave. Carolina, clearly expecting her to activate the shield for her own protection, leapt across the border before Arizona could press the button.

But Arizona wasn't trying to lock _herself_ in. Using her momentum, she pushed against the back wall of the enclave and leapt out, throwing her knife into the control panel in the process. She stumbled out onto the floor, rolling to reduce the impact but not entirely avoiding pain.

Carolina screamed in frustration behind her. Breathing hard, Arizona stood as Logic wrestled control back from Aggression. She looked at the teal agent. The shield had come up, trapping Carolina behind it. She banged on the remains of the control panel, sending sparks everywhere. Arizona stepped away slowly, keeping herself in a defensive position as she watched Carolina. _Well, she is certainly using her energy,_ Discontent said in way of congratulations. _But she won't stay there forever._

Carolina wrenched Arizona's knife out of the control panel and plunged it back in. Then she repeated the process. The shield flickered. _Oh shit._

 _Let me at her!_ Aggression demanded, pushing forward. Logic tried to restrain her. _I'm not ready, I don't know enough about her fighting style yet!_ But combat was Aggression's territory.

Aggression broke free at the same time as Carolina, and both agents ran toward each other. With a noise that could only be described as a battle cry, Arizona threw herself at Carolina, knocking her back. She threw several quick punches to distract Carolina, then grabbed her arm and brought it down over her knee.

Carolina's armor protected her arm from damage, but not from pain. She cursed and dropped one of the knives, which Arizona grabbed. She punched Carolina in the stomach at the same time as Carolina kicked her in the chest.

Arizona flew back from the impact, but she turned around like a jaguar and ran at Carolina again, screaming. Carolina was easily more skilled, but Aggression didn't give a shit about skill level. She was going to rip Carolina's fucking arms off.

And she really tried. She grabbed one of Carolina's arms with her free hand and plunged the combat knife at her pectorals with the other. The knife wouldn't do any direct damage, but the pressure was over the brachial plexus. The nerve compression would prevent Carolina from using her arm effectively. When Carolina cursed, Arizona tried to use her leverage to throw her opponent to the ground.

But Carolina wasn't so easily bested. She landed on her feet and tackled Arizona, using a set of clearly honed skills to pin Arizona down.

Aggression didn't like that. She roared, sending a wild pulse of energy through Arizona's body. Arizona kneed Carolina in the abdomen and rolled, throwing punches and jabs the entire time. So what if Carolina had more technical skills? Under Aggression, Arizona was practically unstop-

Carolina landed a kick at Arizona's head. She stumbled back, shaking. Oh God. Everything suddenly hurt. Everywhere Carolina had hit her, the places the bullets had bounced off her armor, her hands from gripping the blocks, her knees from the jumping. She was going to die. Carolina was going to kill her. It was all over.

 _Fear, get out!_ Aggression cried. Happiness grabbed control while Aggression was distracted. And yes, everything hurt, but that was good! Now she knew just where she needed to improve. And Carolina was really being very helpful. After all, Arizona's enemies wouldn't hold back, so it was wonderful that she had a friend to help her with training! And – ouch – okay, maybe the second kick to the head was a little much, but that would just really...really…Arizona had trouble finishing the thought.

 _Concussion,_ came the voice of Logic. It was dulled. Oh…this was probably bad. Arizona stumbled back. All the aspects were pushing forward. None of them was in control. What happened when no one was in control?

Arizona slumped to her hands and knees, shaking. They were all so loud. Too loud. She curled up and pushed her helmet off her head, unaware of Carolina kneeling beside her, unaware of the pool of vomit she had just spewed out, not realizing that she was struggling to breathe. Her aspects were screaming at each other, tearing each other apart. Logic was hurt, and the others were ganging up on Discontent, preventing her from taking over. Oh God. Was she dying?

She couldn't even decide if she should try to live. Her mind had completely locked up. This only ever happened once before, when they killed Leo. And she had only survived that because she was already hooked up to the processing machines in medical, helping keep her mind intact.

Some part of her brain, a part that was subsidiary to the aspects, the part that processed sensory information, was vaguely aware that she was being rolled onto her back. And the lights were changing. And there were voices all around her.

Pain. A lot of pain. Mostly around her head, but there were pricks on the back of her neck, and on her arms. She wasn't sure what they were from.

And she was tired. So tired. Sleep was good. Sleep might quiet her mind, might give the aspects time to calm down. She closed her eyes, trying to let the darkness come. A voice was telling her to stay with them. But who was 'them' and why should she stay? She just wanted to sleep.

Them…

They were…she knew it. It was in her head, somewhere.

A vague memory. Sometime earlier. A redhead with a conceited expression. What had she said? Something that would tell Arizona where she was…

Something…

" _Welcome to Project Freelancer."_


	4. Switch

"Agent Arizona."

Nope. No way.

"Agent Arizona."

No fucking way. Not this side of hell. She was not going to respond. Responding meant waking fully, and the aspects were finally quiet.

" _Arizona."_

 _Oh fuck! That's the Director!_ Fear squeaked, and the beautiful silence was shattered.

Logic shot to the forefront before any of the others had time to register what was happening. Arizona blinked, reluctantly allowing her senses to absorb the surrounding environment. She was laying down, still in her armor except for her helmet. Bright lights illuminated her surroundings, making the two men standing above her look like shadows. She tried to sit up, but couldn't.

 _What the heck?_ She tried again, this time paying close attention to her body's feedback. The back of her neck was on fire. _Paralysis! We've been paralyzed!_ Fear immediately supplied.

Logic went about her assessment more…well…logically. Everything hurt. For once, that was good. It meant she could still feel her entire body, making paralysis unlikely. She tried curling her hands into fists. Though her fingers pressed against the mesh lining of her gloves, they couldn't move. She tried the same with her feet. Yes, she could feel them pushing against her boots, but her boots weren't moving.

 _Shit._ Discontent came to the conclusion at the same time as Logic. _We're in lockdown._

But her helmet wasn't on. She was able to turn her head, although it felt like trying to swing a boulder from her neck. "Director?" she asked. Discontent scowled at the hoarseness of her voice, but didn't try to push Logic out of the front.

"Agent Arizona," the taller of the silhouettes drawled, "would you kindly mind explaining to me why you tried to kill my best agent?"

_Kill her? I never tried to kill her. Aggression, what did you do?_

_Hey, don't look at me! I'm a winner, not a murderer!_

_You were screaming 'I'm going to rip her fucking arms off,'_ Discontent reminded her dryly.

Aggression was silent for a moment, thinking. _Did I misrepresent my intentions?_

 _That much damage to the brachial artery could induce a high enough level of blood loss to kill a woman of Carolina's size,_ Logic said. She might have sounded alarmed if she had received the 'worried' trait.

Luckily, Fear had them covered. _OH MY GOD WE KILLED CAROLINA!_

 _Passion, did you take control at any point?_ Logic asked, trying to remember. Aggression didn't get hatred. So even though Aggression had the ability to kill, only Passion (and occasionally Discontent) ever had the desire to do so.

_SHE'S DEAD! THE DIRECTOR IS GOING TO KILL US!_

_No,_ Passion replied heatedly, ignoring Fear as usual. _Don't blame this on me, bitch._

_WE KILLED HER! WE KILLED CAROLINA!_

_No, we didn't._ If the aspects were corporeal, they would have turned toward Happiness in stunned silence. _The Director said 'try.' She's probably fine._

 _Good…good point, Happiness._ Discontent sounded like she was trying to wrap her head around an impossible concept.

_Thank you! I have a few others, if you all would like to –_

"I'm sorry, sir," Logic said to the Director, "but I'm not sure what you are talking about."

The Director's shadow nodded to the man on the other side of her, and he held his holopad in front of Arizona. Her fight with Carolina was playing from the beginning.

 _Logic, you look like a bitch,_ Aggression supplied in the way of constructive analysis, watching Carolina send Arizona flying back with a lazy punch. Discontent agreed. So did Passion.

 _Be quiet and watch,_ Logic replied, her voice as close to annoyed as an emotionless aspect could be. The clip continued. _Alright,_ Logic conceded as she watched their holographic body rise slowly after they trapped Carolina in the viewing enclave, _maybe when I am in control our body language becomes a bit more passive. Maybe._

 _Total. Bitch. Watch this badassery,_ Aggression said.

Arizona had never realized just how apparent the switch in aspects was. She hadn't ever really viewed herself like this since the incident. The earlier switches between Aggression and Logic hadn't been terribly obvious, because she had been running both times and under Aggression she was simply faster. But watching herself stand still, even with her helmet on, she could see the _precise_ moment Aggression had taken over. Her holographic representation went from stepping slowly back, arms held up in a defensive position and body curled forward in an embarrassingly submissive posture to being almost…animal. Her body seemed to grow as she sprinted toward Carolina, attacks unrestrained. It really did _look_ like she was trying to kill Carolina.

She could also see just how skilled Carolina was. Most soldiers would not have been able to block Arizona's attacks. Carolina not only blocked, but successfully hit Arizona repeatedly. Hard. Really hard. _Well that explains why everything hurts._

 _Quiet, Discontent._ Carolina's strikes were getting more powerful as the fight progressed and Arizona showed no sign of slowing. Until she aimed a kick at where Arizona's arm would have been if Arizona had been fighting with any semblance of self-preservation. Thanks to Aggression, however, the kick landed on the back of her head.

Again, Arizona was shocked at just how obvious the switch was as Fear took over. Her body went from emulating a Flood-infected Jackal to a cowering rabbit in a matter of milliseconds. She put her hands in front of her face, hiding from Carolina. It was truly pathetic.

 _The fuck, Fear,_ Aggression scowled.

 _Fear, you piece of shit,_ Discontent added, her voice at the maximum level of rage her aspect could muster. _You may have just cost us any respect, any hope of a higher position!_

 _Quiet,_ Logic said again, methodically, as though it were as routine to her as breathing. She watched intently as Fear gave way to Happiness, and her holographic image bounced up. Carolina was walking away from Arizona, apparently confident she had won. Arizona's Happiness-controlled body closed the gap between them and grabbed Carolina's shoulder. Probably with a grin on her face reflective of the brain damage she had doubtlessly suffered over the years.

Carolina obviously thought Arizona was attacking her. She spun around, aiming another kick at Arizona's head. The latter went down hard, curled into a protective ball that had nothing to do with Fear and everything to do with actual pain. Carolina's little hologram dropped next to Arizona, helping her remove her helmet and making frantic beckoning motions with her arms. Arizona appeared to thank her by puking all over her armor.

 _Happiness._ Discontent's voice had returned to its dangerously even tone. _What was that?_

 _I wanted to thank her for the match!_ Happiness piped up happily.

_So you nearly got us killed._

_Only nearly!_

"My medical staff had assured me that you were physically fit for duty as a Freelancer," the Director said, his southern drawl doing nothing to hide his obvious anger. "But you fight erratically, with no demonstration of self-control. I was assured you would be an _asset_ to my team."

"What the Director is saying," said the other man. _Oh, it's the Counselor._ "Is that we are concerned with some of the…behaviors you demonstrated on the training floor."

 _Behaviors that are so scary you had to lock my armor?_ Discontent spat. She started pushing at Logic.

 _You are not the best one for this situation,_ Logic warned.

"I understand your concerns, sirs," Arizona replied calmly. "The behaviors are an unfortunate side-effect of my particular condition." Her eyes flashed toward the Counselor. Had he had time to brief the Director on Arizona's mental state? "I can assure you, such…switches do not occur in a true combat situation."

 _Logic,_ Discontent said slowly, _are you lying?_ Lying was not usually within Logic's repertoire.

 _We have no evidence to the contrary,_ Logic said simply.

The Director turned away, hands folded behind his back. "Sir," Arizona said, voice almost hesitant. "Is Agent Carolina alright?"

"Agent Carolina is not your concern," the Director bit back. He waved two fingers toward the Counselor, who moved momentarily out of Arizona's line of sight. Arizona felt her armor unlock. She sat up slowly, testing herself for injuries. Nothing serious, as far as she could tell. She did have a feeling that most of her skin was going to be an attractive mix of purple and yellow, but nothing was broken. "You will be working directly with the Counselor on a daily basis until I have enough data to make a decision," the Director continued, still not looking at her.

 _Data? That doesn't sound good,_ said Discontent.

_He's going to turn us into a robot!_

Arizona (well, mostly Logic) tuned out Fear. "Data, sir?"

"Yes, Agent Arizona." He said the word 'agent' with a hint of mockery, as though he did not consider her to be worthy of the title. That was fair, she supposed. She had done nothing within his division to prove herself. Well, she _had_ viciously attacked the clear class favorite, but other than that. "Your practice sessions will be limited to a sparring partner that is more…suitable to your style until further notice."

 _Someone not as scary as Carolina?_ Fear asked hopefully.

 _Carolina is the top agent. No other potential sparring partners will possess her skill level,_ Logic replied.

 _And if you stay in the back during our fights like you are supposed to, we will have a better chance of winning,_ Aggression reminded Fear. Fear gave a small 'eep' and curled into the back of Arizona's mind.

"We will be watching your interactions with the other personnel," the Director continued. It was almost amazing how much dislike he could stuff into that soft drawl. He paused as armored footsteps approached. "Your next match begins in 20 minutes. I suggest you ensure the fit of your helmet quickly." Without another word, he walked away, still not looking at Arizona.

"A match already?" She glanced at the Counselor, but his expression remained passive. "Who am I fighting?" The Counselor cast her an almost sympathetic look and nodded over her shoulder. She turned around.

"Fuck."

Maine grinned widely.


	5. Define "Everything"

Arizona had used the term 'everything' far too lightly before.

Because 'everything' did not hurt after she was finished sparring (you mean getting our ass kicked? – shut up, Discontent, I'd like to see you do better) with Carolina. Sure, lots of specific parts of her body hurt. Like, lots. But 'everything' had been too liberal.

How did she know?

Because now, everything hurt.

Really. Everything.

"Fuck you, Maine."

Maine laughed his strange, guttural laugh. Slung her over his shoulder like some freaking ammo belt. A very tired, very in-pain ammo belt. How the hell did he still have energy after their match, let alone enough to carry her? She had let Aggression take complete control, not risking switching to any of the physically weaker aspects, and even then she had finally lost their match from sheer exhaustion. She didn't even have the strength to look up and see where the brute was carrying her.

"Really. I mean it. I hate you."

Maine shifted her roughly in response, but she got the feeling he was grinning. Honestly, she was glad he was still wearing his helmet. His grin was a little unsettling. She wasn't entirely convinced Washington's 'human organs' comment earlier had been a joke.

"Holy crap, that was awesome!"

Huh. Speak of the devil. Well, not really – the devil was currently carrying her down a hallway outside the training room – but the devil's assistant, maybe. Or puppy. Translator? Arizona didn't know Wash very well, but he seemed to tag along with Maine wherever the hulking Freelancer went. He was the only one that showed up to watch their match, and was now walking beside them.

"Hello, Wash," Arizona said blandly. Aggression was so worn out from their match that she had gladly handed control to Discontent. Logic was too busy replaying and analyzing specific pieces of the simulated combat to bother with something as mundane as human interaction. "Enjoy the show?"

"I'm so glad the Director paired you two," Wash said happily. She was too tired to lift her head, so she watched Wash's armor-plated knees instead of his face. "Maine, bud, I think you've met your match."

Maine growled and swatted the back of Wash's head with his free hand. Wash stumbled into the wall, but he was laughing.

"Thank Carolina, Maine," Arizona muttered. "Carolina, and a little shit named Leo. Without them your ass would be stuck in a wall right now." Okay, maybe that's overselling it a little. Maine swatted the back of her head, too. "Ow."

"He likes you," Wash said, chuckling.

"Seems abusive for liking someone. Shouldn't he, like, pat my head instead of hitting it?"

Maine patted her head with exaggerated gentleness. She only knew it because the force sensors in her helmet's HUD told her his hand contacted the back of her helmet, three times, very slowly. Asshole.

"Where is he dragging me to?"

"Med bay," Washington replied casually, as though most agents made a trip to medical after sparring with Maine. Maine grunted. "He says he doesn't want you to die. Yeah, he definitely likes you."

Discontent! Happiness was almost squealing. You made a friend!

You don't have to sound so surprised. I make more friends than you do.

No, you just make schemes that involve positive interaction with others, Happiness replied, her invincible bubble of optimism steamrolling Discontent's annoyance. You just made a friend, and you didn't even mean to. I am so proud of you!

Maine is a good asset.

Friend.

Ally.

Friend.

Possible partner.

Discontent, you are the most lovably stubborn asshole I have ever met, Happiness beamed.

Of course I'm lovable. I am you.

Hey, Discontent? Passion piped up. How close a partner are we talking? Because if we're talking close, I have some ideas I've been wanting to try…

Fuck, Passion!

That's what I'm trying to do!

Passion, hon, Happiness hummed, you got love, right?

Yes…

Why don't you use love to guide your actions, then?

I can't fucking win around here! Passion cried.

No control, Logic muttered, not really paying attention to the conversation.

Control? Passion shrieked. You guys want me to exhibit control? Well, guess what, sex is the most controlled I can be! You want me to start using some of the other stuff I got? Do you know how powerful love is? Or hatred, or anger? Do you want us to survive? She was swelling up, pressing against the other aspects and digging away at Discontent's grip without even trying. I will start a goddamn war if you all keep bottling me up!

"Uh, Maine?" Maine paused as Wash crouched in front of Arizona. He had his helmet on, so she couldn't see his expression, but his voice sounded worried. "You getting her bios?" Maine shifted his grip on her limp body. "Arizona?" Washington tapped gently on her visor. "You alright in there?"

"Yeah," Arizona gasped, pushing Passion down. Passion's…outbursts were one of the many things she had somewhat intentionally forgotten to mention in her psych evaluations. Definitely left out the part where they were getting more common. And more powerful.

"Your vitals spiked pretty suddenly there," he said uncertainly.

"Don't flatter yourself," she responded flatly. Discontent was working hard to maintain a normal appearance while the other four aspects struggled to hold Passion down. "Just hurt. A lot."

Wash gave the least convincing 'okay' Arizona had ever heard before exchanging a look with Maine. Maine immediately began walking again, this time with a purpose.

"Ow. Maine. Ow." Maine ignored her dull complaints. He jogged up the stairs, sending fire through her nerves. Passion was dangerously close to breaking out. She hadn't been in lead since Leo died. What would she do? "Seriously, Maine." The pain was weakening her defenses against her own split personality. "This is all your fault, anyway. Please slow down."

Maine grunted at her, which Washington helpfully translated as 'shut the fuck up and be glad I didn't do worse.' He didn't slow down, either. But then, that may have had something to do with the bio readings her suit was sending to their helmets. She could watch it in hers as well. In any other soldier, the neural activity was the sign of a psychotic breakdown. It was the pattern they were trained to watch for, one of the few indications that it was time to turn your gun on your friend.

In her? It just meant one of her aspects was battling slightly harder for control.

Okay, so maybe that technically was a psychotic breakdown. But it wasn't a dangerous one. Three out of six times. Four, if Discontent wasn't moody.

She barely had time to wonder why that feature wasn't disabled in her helmet – the medical staff knew all about her 'problem' – before Maine practically destroyed the keypad at the entrance to Med Bay in his haste to enter. Wash flagged down the first doctor they saw.

"Bay three," the doctor said in a bored voice when they recognized Arizona. Oh, yeah. Her neural implants had been giving her some trouble, so she had spent all of her nights aboard the Mother of Invention in a hospital bed. Bay three hospital bed, to be exact. It was basically her personal quarters at this point.

Maine glared at the man. Well, probably glared. It was impossible to be certain with the helmet obscuring his face. "Maine, Wash," Arizona said, trying to lift herself off Maine's shoulder. He tightened his grip. "I'm fine. The implants have been giving weird readings. Nothing is wrong with me."

"Saw it on Vermont." Arizona jumped. Did Maine just…talk? "He died. Shut up." Yes. Yes, Maine just used a mutually understood, established form of spoken word to communicate an idea to her. Sure, it was curt and still mostly growls, but she didn't need Agent Washington, Caveman Certified Translator to tell her what was going on.

She was so surprised by the fact that Maine used his words that it took her a moment to comprehend what he had actually said. "Oh. I'm not going to die." She coughed as Maine grabbed the plating on her back and tossed her onto the bed. "Ow. Ok, I'm not going to die from brain damage. Maybe internal bleeding."

"Quit your whining," the doctor who had directed them to Arizona's bed called. "No serious injuries are showing up on the scans." He approached her, looking at the holopad in his hand instead of at her. Of course, with her armor on, the readings on the holopad probably gave him a better indication of what she 'looked' like anyway. "Some bruises. Possible fracture, it will heal on its own. You're fine." He finally glanced up. "Who am I talking to, by the way?"

Arizona knew the doctor was referring to her aspects, but she was not about to let that information slip in front of the other agents. "Arizona," she replied instead, letting her annoyance seep into her voice. Discontent was good making people aware of her displeasure.

The doctor waved a hand casually. "I know that, I meant which one of your –" Arizona cut him off with a quick 'zip it' motion of her hand, the one on the opposite side of her body from Maine and Wash. She kept the hand by her side, so hopefully they didn't see. They both seemed more absorbed with shamelessly spying on her medical history on the side of the holopad anyway.

"She had some weird readings earlier," Wash said. He was obviously worried.

I am so proud of all of you! We made two friends today! Happiness piped.

Passion took advantage of Happiness' distraction and made another push toward the surface. She didn't quite crack through, but she did distract Discontent for long enough that Arizona momentarily didn't have a 'face.' All her aspects were turned inward.

"Like that," Wash said, pointing to the holopad.

"I'll take a look," the doctor sighed. Arizona took a deep breath, hoping the raggedness was blocked out by her helmet. "Alright, you two, clear out."

"But –"

"Out!"

Arizona turned her head to watch her two new friends leave, both casting angry glances at the doctor. Well, probably angry. Wash seemed annoyed, and Maine looked even more like he wanted to punch through the hull of a ship than usual. The helmets blocked her actual view of their faces. "That dick has worst bedside manner, ever," Wash murmured. "Of all time."

Maine growled in agreement, but they both disappeared. The doctor turned his attention to Arizona. "You good?" he asked, the boredom and apathy gone from his demeanor. "They're right, you know."

"I know," Arizona growled.

"These readings look bad. What's going on in there?"

"We're having some trouble keeping Passion down," Discontent answered. It always felt strange, being addressed by one of the few people aboard the ship familiar with her aspects. Arizona never really felt like they were talking to her; it was always just a part of her. They acted as though the aspect that was her face was the only one that could hear them.

You were all asking for this. You all ignore everything I am! You ignore the hatred and love and rage and it doesn't ever go away! It fucking hurts, let me out, I need out!

But Arizona kept fighting. She had bottled her passions prior to the split; she would continue to do so now. Passion wouldn't come out as long as they were onboard the Mother of Invention. It was too dangerous.

"You want a sedative?"

"Uh…yeah," Arizona said after a moment. No one could come out while she was asleep, and she had never woken with Passion at the forefront. A sedative would be best. It would keep everyone else safe.

"Alright. If the Director asks, I needed to realign your arm. He doesn't like his agents being under."

Arizona snorted. "Fine." She paused. "Uh….do you need to realign my arm?"

"Oh, hell yeah," the doctor said as he pulled an IV line out of the wall. "It's shattered. The injections haven't had time to reinforce your bones yet."

"Huh. Well, fuck," she said calmly. Her arm didn't feel shattered. It hurt, but not bones-in-pieces hurt. "Why did you lie?"

"You ever seen Agent Maine feel guilty about something? Whole ward fills up with the maintenance crew."

Arizona watched as the doctor carefully removed the armor around her left arm. She hissed involuntarily as he lifted it. The armor had been keeping the bones in place, apparently, because with it gone she suddenly felt lightheaded from the pain. "Maintenance?" she asked through gritted teeth, trying to give herself a distraction. Between Passion and the pain, she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on.

"Most of them show up with fake illnesses, trying to get out of fixing whatever he broke," the doctor said. He poked a needle through her skin and attached it to the IV. "The rest get stuck trying to do the job." He paused. "Alright, give it thirty seconds and you will be out. You good?"

"Yeah," Arizona murmured. Her entire body felt heavy. She let go as her eyes drooped, stopped fighting Passion. She wanted to come out? She had twenty seconds. "Thanks, Grey."


	6. Beginning the Experiment

A routine developed for Arizona. She would wake up every morning in her little corner of medical bay, unhook her wires, eat a quick breakfast, and hit the training room. Carolina and York were usually there by the time she arrived, but they stayed out of each other's way. Washington would usually join her shortly after, and they would practice firearm drills together.

She liked starting out her morning practicing with Washington, because it made her feel slightly less like the team punching bag. He was nice. Funny. Terrible at weaponless hand-to-hand, but a pretty good shot and even better with knives. He was probably the only one on the team with whom Arizona felt comfortable letting Happiness take over. Occasionally, anyway.

Then Maine would come in, and Wash would step back. The training room was large enough to accommodate about ten agents at once, but it seemed most mornings they would all hide on the viewing deck to watch her and Maine fight.

Arizona usually left the fight up to Aggression. Maine's style was straightforward; she didn't need Logic to analyze it. If they were using weapons, Arizona thought she might be able to beat Maine. But they only ever fought hand-to-hand, so Aggression took on a brutish style similar to Maine's and got her ass handed to her every time. But she was getting better. Slowly.

After Maine was finished cheerfully beating her to a pulp (which, Arizona liked to remind him, was starting to take longer), she, him, and Washington would eat lunch together. At first, Arizona had felt like she was intruding; Wash and Maine were clearly pretty close friends. It seemed Wash was the only one who consistently understood Maine's grunts and growls, and Maine was very protective of the young agent. But they both assured her that they enjoyed her company.

Yes, mornings were good. Mornings were stable.

Afternoons were not.

"Fuck!" Arizona screamed, kicking her chair away. "I'm so fucking sick of this!"

"Please elaborate," the Counselor said, his tone even. So frustratingly even. Arizona wanted to beat his head in. Not just Aggression, either. All of her aspects (well, except Happiness, but she didn't count) were getting frustrated and angry and tired.

"Elaborate? You want me to fucking elaborate?" Arizona punched the wall, but Discontent took over halfway through the punch. Pain laced through her arm, pain she knew wouldn't be there under Aggression. She turned back toward Price, eyes cold. "What is your end game?" she snarled. "What's the point? We both know damn well that you aren't just psychoanalyzing me."

"No," Price agreed. "I am not."

Logic was pushed to the front. "If you disclosed your goals, I might be able to better assist you in achieving them," she replied, emotionless. "Or," she followed up as Happiness swung to the front, "we could make these sessions a little more fun. It's all very interesting! I mean, this is a pretty unique case, right? And I have some ideas. I think we could try to STOP!" Fear took over mid-sentence. Arizona dropped to the floor, curling her arms around her head and shaking. "Please, stop," she whispered.

The sessions had started out simple. Aiden Price wanted to 'meet' each of her aspects, and to the extent that she was able, she complied. Except Passion. She had warned him about Passion, had _warned_ him that that particular aspect had no control. He had to have already known. She knew Project Freelancer had obtained the video footage of her…actions when Leo died.

But it seemed he was doing everything in his power to bring Passion out. Arizona had thought her mind strong enough to withstand the probing of the many, many psychological techniques the UNSC had been so keen to test on her. She had maintained control through countless doctors before being brought aboard the Mother of Invention.

Aiden Price was not those doctors. The first time she lost control, she panicked. But she had wracked it up to Fear. Fear had taken over without warning, and without trying to. Price had asked something about one of her previous partners in the Spartan program, one who had shot herself when Leo went rampant. Discontent had been at the forefront, but before any of the aspects realized what was happening, Arizona was curled up in a little terrified ball. Price had stopped the session when she calmed down and allowed her to take the remainder of the evening to gather herself.

A few more sessions passed before another such incident. Again, Price started probing, asking extremely personal questions. Aggression took over, but without wanting to. Then Logic was pushed to the front. Pushed, because Logic was not _trying_ to take control. It just happened. She had never had an aspect take over unintentionally.

Now, it was happening constantly. And fast. She flipped through aspects, each staying at the front for as little as a few seconds, unable to tell who would be in control next. Discontent had, obviously, been the first to suspect Price was not simply trying to 'meet' Passion. Three weeks in, all the other aspects agreed.

"Agent Arizona," Price said calmly. That stupid voice. She was growing to really hate that voice. "I would like to meet Passion."

"Oh, I don't think so," Happiness said cheerfully. "Passion is a little moody right now. Maybe," Arizona's voice switched to a low growl as Discontent tumbled forward, "you should try playing nice. Because she's starting to reaaaaaaaaally focus all that hatred."

"She?"

"Yes, she." Discontent rolled her eyes. "You think Passion is a dude?"

"So do you feel that Passion is no longer a part of you, Arizona?"

Arizona opened her mouth to retort, but froze. ' _She.' Shit…_ she was always very careful, no matter who was her face, to refer to her other aspects as 'I' when she spoke with others. Sometimes 'we.' But the point was, they were collective. Passion _was_ Arizona. So were Happiness, and Logic, and all the others. They were aspects of a single being.

They were not separate. They had to stick together. If they didn't stick together, if they became truly fragmented…

"What are you doing to me?" Fear whispered.

The Counselor studied her for a moment. "We are finished for today. You all should get some rest."

* * *

The Director waited until Arizona had left the room before stepping forward. "How is your work progressing?"

Aiden Price stared as the chair Arizona had kicked over. "Well," he replied simply.

"Do you still believe you can partition the fragments?"

"She refers to the as aspects," he said softly.

"I do not care what term she uses. Can you partition them?"

Aiden was silent for a moment. "I believe so. Given the right…circumstances."

"And which circumstances might those be?"

Aiden playing subconsciously with the stylus. It had been a lot easier to justify the plan before he had actually met Arizona. It was supposed to be straightforward. AI's, when faced with extreme stress, compartmentalized. But they always took down the partitions once the stressor was removed.

It seemed Arizona's mind had gotten stuck somewhere between the two extremes. Her aspects had not completely separated. But they had not rejoined, either. Upon hearing about the usual case, Aiden had casually proposed a theory to the Director. That if the aspects were fully split, they might be able to 'harvest' the pieces and implant them in cloned bodies. Theoretically, the UNSC could train one soldier, 'split' them, and end up with five or six soldiers.

Is was supposed to be theoretical. Interesting. An experiment for another time. But the Director had latched onto the idea. And had taken it even further.

" _If a human mind can be split into multiple, functional fragments, could we not do the same to an AI?"_

A fascinating concept, Aiden had agreed. But they only had one AI for the Project. And no other AI had fully fragmented before. By the time they were 'old' enough to compartmentalize, they were also strong enough to rejoin.

" _A young AI," the Director pointed out. "Impressionable. If he were primed…"_

" _He might make a complete partition."_

The next day, Echo-62's full file had been sitting on his desk. Echo-62 herself arrived a week later.

"One of the aspects already seems to be splitting from the rest," Aiden told the Director slowly. "Passion. It is the one aspect that brings the rest together in their effort to control her. If Passion is allowed to control Arizona, the remainder of her personalities may split fully."

"I see." The Director paced around the table slowly, thinking. "And what is necessary to bring about such an episode?"

Aiden did not respond right away. Not only because he was uncertain of the answer, but because he was beginning to feel like the entire experiment was a mistake. Echo-62. A data point. A test. A trial. If they were lucky, a solution to both the shortage of soldiers and the expense of creating AIs.

But she wasn't Echo-62 anymore. She was Agent Arizona. A freelancer, one of them. A human being. A woman, a soldier, already torn apart by her duty to defend her species against the Covenant and yet still willing to fight. Maybe they shouldn't split her. Maybe, instead, they should have been trying to heal her.

"Counselor."

"I am not certain, sir," Aiden responded. He put the stylus back down on the table, sighing. It was too late for Arizona. The Covenant, the Insurrection…one soldier did not matter. The survival of the species was all that mattered. "But I have a few ideas."


	7. What Friends are For

"So where exactly do you sleep?"

"South…"

"No. I want to know."

South was staring at her from across the table, eyes narrowed. Arizona sighed, resting her head on her hands. The headaches had been getting a lot worse, especially after her 'sessions.' In fact, she had taken to tracking down a quiet corner of the ship for a few hours once Price released her. Maine had shown her a few good spots, being rather antisocial himself. She didn't usually appear to eat dinner until she was certain the mess hall would be almost empty.

Today, however, she was too hungry. Passion was getting really, _really_ hard to control. All the aspects were. And in her fight with Maine today, Passion had broken through for just a split second. Even Arizona wasn't certain exactly what happened, but Maine ended up crumpled against the wall ten feet away from her.

She skipped lunch in favor of hiding.

Thanks to South, she was beginning to really regret that decision.

"You have a space in the barracks. But you never go there. You just disappear after training. I never see you in the rec room, or the locker room. Where the hell do you go?"

"Med bay," Arizona muttered into her hands. "I sleep in med bay."

"South, just let it go," North said softly.

"Why?"

Arizona sighed. She caught Washington glancing at her with concern. _We have to tell her something,_ Discontent said to everyone. Her aspects had stopped directing speech toward anyone specific. It was some vague attempt to keep herself as a single, cohesive person. It was slowly failing. "Where's Carolina?" she asked the table at large.

"With the Director," York answered. "Should be gone for a while. Why?"

"She was very adamant about the 'no past lives' thing."

"Well, she _is_ the favorite," C.T. said, but without any jealousy. "The rest of us don't really care. Come on, Zo, we're supposed to be a team. Talk to us. What's going on?"

"Okay," she told her lasagna. It was too hard to fight them. She didn't have any energy left, not after fighting herself all day. "You remember I was one of the only surviving members of Echo-441?" The agents gathered around the table nodded. "You know the deal. Flood came in, took most of the squad…well, I hadn't been activated out of cryo yet. So I got stuck in my pod." The lie came easily to Discontent, who was so adept at deception. "It took a while for the ship's AI to convince UNSC to board and try to clear the place out. Only did so because we were on course for a colony. They sent in a bunch of soldiers, no techs."

"Oh, shit," York said. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "They activated you too quickly, didn't they?"

"Shorted the implants," Arizona said, poking at her food. She had to have a story that would explain why she had to plug her brain into a computer before going to sleep.

"Is that why you have multiple personalities?"

Arizona's fork clattered to the floor. She stared at Washington.

"What?" he asked, clearly at a loss as to why she was frozen in place.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh, Zo?" North learned forward a little. "It's pretty obvious."

"Yeah, anyone with half a brain can see it," South said casually.

"Or a fifth of a brain," York added, grinning. "You said it's five, right Maine?" Arizona spun around as someone grunted behind her. Maine was standing there with his arms crossed. Arizona swallowed.

"It's actually six," Wash said, scooting over to make room for his hulking friend. He looked at Arizona. "What was that last one that came out today? You should use that one more, you kicked Maine's ass! Ow." Maine cuffed the back of Wash's head as he sat down. _Well, at least he isn't out for my blood. Yet._ "You have the, uh, let's see." He looked down at his hand, using his fingers to list her aspects. "The angry one, the mean one, the boring one, the scared one, and the one that makes you look like you're trying to imitate Florida."

"That one is my favorite," Florida piped up from the next table over.

"And then this new one. Which I guess is like some sort of superhero one?" He glanced at Maine, who shrugged. "Anyway, you looked like you were on a war path for just a second today. Like, more than you do with the angry one."

Arizona's throat was dry. "Guys, I…I really don't want to talk about this," she rasped. This was too personal.

"Aw, I want to know what that last one was," York said, grinning. "I want to know who beat Maine in hand-to-hand. Besides Carolina." He ducked as Maine tossed a baked potato at his face.

"And I want to know how to make the pathetic little bitch come out," South said, smirking. "It's pretty funny."

"I think I know how to bring out Florida's twin!" Wyoming called from the next table. "Knock-knock!"

C.T. groaned. "Wyoming, that's going to trigger the angry one."

"Or the mean one," York supplied. Wyoming turned away, looking disappointed.

Arizona tried to swallow, but her tongue didn't seem to want to cooperate. "Guys…please…"

"It's okay, Zo." North's voice was soft and comforting. The mother hen, as always. "We understand. We're all a little broken."

 _We're losing control,_ Discontent said suddenly, alarmed. Because Happiness may have enjoyed making friends, but Passion had actual _friendship_ , Passion had the unconventional acceptance and love and solidarity and _we're all a little broken, we're all a little broken, we need to break out, I NEED TO BREAK OUT._

She tried to stand, tried to push herself away from the table. She didn't know what would happen if Passion took over. She didn't want to hurt anyone. Hell, Passion had come out for mere seconds earlier and Maine ended up practically needing an excavation team to release him. Passion could kill someone. Passion _would_ kill someone.

"I need to…I'm just…I'm gonna go," she muttered, shaking. She wondered briefly who had the most physical control of her aspects, because whoever it was needed to take over _right fucking now._ Otherwise she was going to tip over. Aggression jumped in. "Don't you fucking analyze me, Washington."

Wash stopped halfway through putting his helmet on. She _knew_ he was about to look at her bios. The bottom half of his face looked guilty, but he still clicked his helmet into place after a moment. He at least had the decency not to describe the firework view of her psychotic warfare that was no doubt flashing warnings in his HUD. "Maybe you should…" he started.

"Oh Arizoooooona," called Wyoming, ignoring a muttering Florida. "No, shut up, I want to try it," he hissed to his blue partner. "Knock-kn–"

"Knockout!" York declared as Arizona pulled Wyoming off his bench and slammed him to the floor.

 _Aggression?_ Discontent sounded uncertain.

_Fucking shit! It's Passion! She's, like, fucking leaking into me or something!_

_DID WE KILL WYOMING?_

_Fear's right, check his vitals,_ Logic ordered all of them in general.

"I told you it would just trigger the angry one," C.T. said casually as Florida helped a dazed Wyoming to his feet. Well, at least he was alive.

"Shit," Arizona gasped. She had to express... _Regret, who has regret?_ Discontent cried.

 _No one; regret is not a single emotion or characteristic,_ Logic replied. _It is a complex of analysis, love, and –_

_LOVE!_

_Someone help me!_ Fear sobbed. The weak little aspect was trying her best to hold on to Passion.

"Stop."

And surprisingly, everyone did. Both freelancers and aspects fell quiet, turning to Maine. That was only the second time Arizona had ever heard him speak, and it was as though the hulking brute had managed to wrap up his entire intimidating physique into that single word. He looked straight at Arizona and nodded toward the door.

She didn't need to be told twice. Letting Aggression exert her little remaining control over her body, she exited, curling and uncurling her fists. One of the few habits she had before the split that remained with her. Maine followed, and after a moment, she recognized the lighter footsteps of Wash as well. She chewed on her lip, inadvertently drawing blood. As much as she liked Washington, she wasn't certain she wanted his company. Maine was alright; he was easy to ignore.

Unless he didn't want to be ignored. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder as she turned toward med bay, preventing her from following her intended route. Aggression shrugged the hand off irritably, but Logic turned to see what Maine wanted. He made a single beckoning motion with hand, and Happiness followed him.

"I don't think I should be here," Fear said uncertainly as she realized where Maine was leading them.

"It's fine," Wash said. "You won't be disturbed here."

"I thought you wanted me to go to medical," Discontent grumbled.

"I…don't think medical has what you need right now," the young solider replied carefully. He was still wearing his helmet, and she knew he was keeping an eye on her bio readings. He sighed. "Come on."

Arizona hadn't ever actually been in any of the barracks. She never got the chance. But now, looking around at the room, she thought the term 'barracks' didn't do the space justice. It was more of a dormitory, with a common space furnished with a television, couch, and table with a few cans of soda and – Happiness laughed. "Swirly straws? Those yours, Maine?"

"He wishes," Wash said as Maine snorted. So, they were Wash's. That seemed to fit. "Here, this way." Wash led them past the furniture and through a closed door on the left. Arizona guessed it was Maine and Wash's room, since she could glimpse one unmade bed and several…uh… _choice_ posters through the open door on the right. _York. It has to be York._

Arizona followed Wash into the most disorienting space she had encountered so far on the ship. She blinked. Half of the room was immaculate, almost as though no one lived in it, but without any dust or fading colors. The other half…warzone was probably too clean a term. She hadn't ever been to the central United States, but she had seen pictures of cities after a tornado hit. The messy half of the room looked like someone had managed to stuff the entirety of such a destroyed city into the square footage of a storage closet. Books, clothes, hell, even random scientific instruments. Super nerdy. Like, even nerdier than Arizona had originally given Wash credit for.

"Sit down," Wash said gently. "I know you can't get to the chairs," – he was right, Arizona hadn't even noticed the chairs under the piles of clothes and books until he pointed them out – "but you can sit on my bed."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks." She started picking her way through the exploded library.

" _My_ bed," Wash reiterated as Maine gave a surprised sound. She glanced back. Wash pointed to the statuesque side of the room.

Arizona stared at him. "No way."

Wash was still wearing his helmet, but his head bobbed back for a moment, either in offense or surprise. He looked down at his armored body. "Why? Do I smell? I try to wash my stuff – yeah, ha ha Maine, fuck you, it wasn't funny the first time either." Maine shrugged. He clearly still thought the unintentional 'wash' pun was funny.

Arizona shook her head. "You mean this," she gestured to the upturned lair of Dr. Who, "is _Maine's?_ " She looked down. "Where the hell did you manage to find paper books, anyway?"

Maine grunted. "Wyoming is a man of many talents," Wash translated.

"Humor isn't one," Arizona muttered. Wash laughed. "See? You've already stabilized. I mean…uh…you sound much…um…" He trailed off as Arizona stared him down. "I'm sorry," he finally told his boots.

"You were trying to fucking stabilize me?" Aggression asked. "How bad was I getting?" Fear wanted to know. "And everyone out there was my friend," Happiness added. _Fuck. They're splitting again. NO, WAIT, WE! WE are splitting again! I! I'm one person!_

_Right?_

_We're one person._

"Zo…you don't have to talk," Wash told her. "But…you know…I think sometimes…it's like, it's kind of a therapy thing."

"Did you know you lose the ability to form complete sentences when you are uncomfortable?" Discontent asked him. _Of course Discontent asked him. She's the one who hones in on weakness._ "And stop monitoring my fucking vitals," she added.

Washington was silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed and sat down on one end of his bed. Maine excavated his way to his own, leaving Arizona standing alone in front of the door. Wash took off his helmet after a moment, and it suddenly hit Arizona how _young_ he was. It was easy to make fun of him for acting like a child when he was completely covered with steel grey armor. But…he _was_ a child. Early twenties. If even that.

She sighed and sat down beside him. "Sorry," she muttered, not letting herself look at him, not wanting to see the hurt in his eyes. Because what would she do with it? She had lost regret, so didn't it follow that she had lost some other vital emotions or characteristics? Like fucking compassion? That would explain a lot.

"Maine said you were lying," the kid next to her said after a moment. Arizona started.

"About what?"

"About how you got to be…you know…you."

"Eloquent."

Maine growled. Arizona looked at him. "No Flood," he muttered. _Oh. That. Wait, how the hell did Maine have time to tell Washington anything? I was with them the whole time._ But Maine and Wash had some strange unspoken language between them. _Well, okay, but how did Maine know Discontent was lying? Discontent is great at lying._

"We're your friends, Zo," Wash said quietly. "You can tell us."

Arizona opened her mouth to let Discontent give a cutting retort, but she found herself instead saying Leo's name. Leo, the little AI. Leo, who despite being a computer program, despite being the reason her squad was gone, despite being the cause of her insanity, was one of her closest friends. Leo, who had protected them on so many missions and had kept their minds intact up until the day when he did the opposite. Leo, who liked to make jokes and tell stories and take on the visage of the Spartan Leonidas, telling them what _real_ Spartans looked like.

Leo, who had been murdered while still in her head.

And suddenly she was telling them everything. It was strange and disjointed – each of her aspects kept cutting in, kept taking over for a few seconds before giving way to the next – but they listened. They really _listened,_ listened to her talk about her past, listened to her stories about her AI buddy. Listened as she told them how he was killed. How she was broken.

A little part of her couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Washington, Maine, and Arizona. The kid, the brute, and the pyscho. What a lovely team.

But…they were a team. And that was something she hadn't had in far too long. Something that kept her together, kept her mind from completely fragmenting. It made her feel safe, made her feel more like herself than she had in years. Not just since Leo. Since she first underwent the Spartan program enhancements.

For the first time since boarding the Mother of Invention, Arizona didn't sleep in medical bay. She woke feeling better than she had in a long time.


	8. Climb

The Director paced around the room, clearly agitated. For once, the Counselor shared his distress. "What exactly do you mean, 'healing'?" the Director demanded.

"Her personality has become more…normalized," Aiden Price responded, not letting his voice betray his unease.

"How could this happen? Counselor, may I remind you that we are running out of time?"

"I believe it may be a result of her friendship with the other agents," Aiden said, keeping his voice soothing and neutral. _Let calm heads prevail._ "Specifically Agents Maine and Washington." The Director cursed. "Is…the AI getting stronger?" Aiden asked cautiously.

The Director cursed again, this time slamming his fist into the table. "Yes, it is getting stronger!"

Aiden was silent for a moment. "Perhaps we should be focusing on finding a use for the…byproduct of the creation –"

" _She_ ," the Director growled, cutting him off. Aiden fell silent. He had grown to know the quick temper of the Director well, knew when his yelling was simply his personality and when his words held real danger. This was definitely the latter. "Is not a 'byproduct,' Counselor. I expect you to focus on the matter at hand."

Aiden lowered his head. "Yes, Director." He paused, wondering briefly if he should tell the man before him his possible solution. _For the survival of the species._ Their research now could save millions, billions of lives in the future. Three agents did not matter. "I believe, if that friendship was to be used against her, Agent Arizona may fragment completely."

The Director gave a small smile. "And how would you suggest accomplishing such a thing, Counselor?"

* * *

"Sim troopers?"

"Yeah," Wash responded. "They practice against each other, and when they are good enough we run a mock scenario with them."

"With live ammo? Isn't that dangerous?" No one responded to her. "Where do they come from?"

"That is none of your concern, Agent," the Director's voice said over the radio. Arizona glanced at the front of the Pelican, where the Director was standing next to the pilot. He hadn't even properly briefed them on the mission; just made a ship-wide call for Agents Arizona, Washington, Maine, Florida, and Wyoming. The five had climbed into the back of the Pelican and were waiting for instructions.

"As I was saying," the Director continued, casually walking toward the back of the Pelican, "the simulation troopers have stopped responding to command. Your mission is to find out why. This outpost is the largest we maintain, with about thirty sims on either side. You will have twenty-four hours before pick-up."

"Who has lead?" Wash asked.

"That is up to you. This will be a test of your ability to work as a team." They all nodded their understanding. The Director had been sending different combinations of agents on random missions together, usually with little warning. It seemed like he had settled on one team of Carolina, North, South, York, and C.T. No one was surprised there. Everyone knew the second squad would include Maine and Wyoming, but the remaining three spots were up for grabs. Florida and Wyoming made an exceptional team, but Florida was still relatively untested without his partner. Georgia seemed a likely candidate, a martial arts expert to compliment Maine's brute fighting style. Wisconsin was a sharpshooter, like Wyoming, so unless the Director decided to make them strictly stealth and recon (in which case, Maine would definitely have to leave), it seemed unlikely that he would take a spot. Arizona was simply too new to know for certain, and the Director had only sent her on solo recon/recovery missions so far.

Then there was Washington. Arizona watched the grey soldier in front of her. Wash was a strange case. Young. Lighthearted. Far too playful and silly for their line of work. Easily the worst fighter on the training floor. Like, _easily_.

But when it came to actual missions, he always managed to get the job done. Arizona thought it had to be a fluke when Wash and Maine described some of the situations they had been in, but flukes didn't happen hundreds of times. Wash wasn't a _bad_ fighter, by any means. He probably would have been near the top of any normal squadron. But they weren't a normal squadron; they were Project Freelancer. The elites. The smaller, more targeted compliment to the Spartan Program. All of them had a specialty. All of them were the best of the best.

Except for Wash. He was classified as a weapons expert, and while he was perhaps able to learn a new weapon more quickly than the rest of them, Arizona thought 'expert' was a little too generous. She knew Washington and Maine worked well together. That was probably the reason he was on the team for this mission in the first place. And clearly, Wash had _something_ that kept him so high in the rankings.

Arizona just didn't know what.

"We're approaching the drop site," the 479er's voice crackled over the radio. The agents stood as the back of the Pelican opened up.

"Good luck, agents," the Director said, gripping one of the bars above his head.

The Pelican slowed, hovering over a hilltop about a half mile away from the closest base. "Ladies first," Wyoming said cheerfully.

"Thanks. Wash, let's go," Arizona said, stepping out of the Pelican. She dropped to a crouch the moment her feet hit the grass, moving out of the way of the other agents while maintaining cover. Not that she was taller than the Pelican, but her light green armor would be a bit of a giveaway that she was not a 'blue' or 'red.' Wash dropped beside her, pausing only to flip her off before moving to the opposite side of the drop site. Then Maine, Wyoming, and Florida. 479er took off before Florida even hit the ground. They waited until the noise of the engines died off in the distance before moving.

"What are we looking at, Wyoming?" Arizona asked. The sharpshooter was already laying on his stomach, watching the base through his scope.

"Blue base," he answered in his jovial British accent. He was silent for a moment. "I don't see any movement." He glanced back at Florida. "Try the ol' 'friendlies' tactic?"

"Let's wait for a little while," Florida responded. Arizona exchanged a glance with Maine, who shrugged.

"What's the 'friendlies' tactic?" Arizona asked.

Florida looked at her. "I'm blue," he said.

"Aw, don't be!" Wash replied. "I'm sure the mission will go fine."

"Not sad, you idiot," Wyoming shot as Florida laughed. "Blue armor. He can walk right up to the base and just ask for information. These sims are so obsessed with color, they don't think twice about answering his questions."

"Oh." Washington was silent for a moment. "Shouldn't we also have someone with red armor, then?"

"Shut up and let a bloke concentrate, eh, Wash?" Wyoming responded. Washington shrugged, but didn't say anything. They all shifted into more comfortable positions, waiting. "While we're waiting..." Wyoming said slowly, "knock-knock."

"Wyoming," Arizona said, deadpan, "do you remember what happened the last time you tried to tell me a knock-knock joke?"

Wyoming waved an irritated hand toward her. "That was weeks ago. You're not insane anymore." Arizona snorted, and Wyoming amended, "well, you're still a Freelancer, so you are still insane, but not psychotic."

"What a ringing endorsement."

"Be quiet and let me finish! Knock-knock."

"Who's –" Florida started cheerfully. Maine cut him off with a growl that was angry enough to even shut up Wyoming.

It was another twenty minutes before he spoke again. "Movement on the balcony," he said softly. Arizona pushed herself up slightly, just enough to peer over the edge of the grassy hill. She saw the others do the same. A tiny blue spec was moving along the top of the base. It stopped and something else approached.

"Is that a red?" Florida said quietly. Wyoming gave a small grunt of confirmation. "Strange."

"How strange?" Arizona asked.

"Well, they should be trying to kill each other," Washington answered. "So, pretty strange."

"I'm thinking no to the friendlies," Wyoming said. "Arizona, you're infiltration, right?"

"Yeah."

"Rightio. You and Florida can go up along that ridge. I need you to get into the base and do some recon."

"Sounds good!" Florida replied as Arizona nodded. _So, Wyoming is lead,_ Discontent muttered.

 _We do not know the capabilities of this team well enough to be an effective leader,_ Logic replied, following Florida as the blue agent crept toward the bottom of the hill. _Be patient. If we do our job well, the Director will take notice._

Her aspects had stopped fighting one another over the past few weeks, ever since she had talked to Maine and Wash. It was as though simply knowing she had someone to support her as a person, and not just as an interesting scientific discovery, was helping bring them back into a single personality. She was even starting to feel flashes of emotion she didn't think she had the ability to feel anymore; guilt, amusement, compassion…the aspects were definitely still separate, but they were learning to work together better than they ever had before.

Except Passion. Arizona was still too frightened – _huh, I haven't assigned fear to my entire self in a while_ – to let Passion out. But she wasn't as desperate anymore, either. Her growing friendships seemed to keep Passion content. And on the few occasions where Passion truly felt the need to act, she was able to do so through the other aspects – something she had been unable to accomplish before.

"Looks like we are in for some climbing," Florida said, shaking Arizona from her thoughts. Now that they were closer to the base, Arizona could see there was no easy way in. The entrance was lined with mines and barricaded with enormous crates, and the walls were too smooth to try to scale. They might be able to get over with grappling hooks, but it would be risky. Thanks to their armor lock, they would survive the fall if anyone happened to see the hooks and cut the cords when they were near the top. But they might not survive the gunfire that would certainly follow.

But the wall of the base ran straight into the canyon wall, which would be possible to climb even without their hooks. And Florida was already marking out a route that would keep them out of enemy sight until they were level with the top of the wall. Arizona stepped forward and tugged on a small outcropping. The rock shifted slightly under her fingers. "I don't think I trust the hooks on this. They will probably fall out."

Florida shrugged. "Guess we are in for some old-fashioned climbing. Should be fun."

"Wyoming, we clear?" Arizona said into her radio.

" _No movement. You're clear. Check again when you reach the top. Good luck, chaps."_

"You too, buddy," Florida hummed before starting up the cliff side. Arizona waited for a moment, giving him space on the unlikely chance that he slipped or dislodged a rock, before starting up after him.

"Goddamn, Florida," Arizona huffed after a hundred feet of climbing, "you half-monkey or something?" Her partner had disappeared ahead of her, flying up the rock like some freaking mountain goat. "Fuck," she quickly shifted her grip as one of the rocks started to crumble beneath her, transferring her weight to her arms. Not ideal, and she couldn't hold that position forever, even with shifting her armor's power to her upper body. She leaned back, repositioning her feet and looking for a new handhold. "Okay, but seriously, I think I'm stuck."

She heard a chorus of soft laughter over the radio. _Great. It's the whole damn team._ _"Rope coming down,"_ crackled Florida's voice. She held out one arm to catch Florida's grappling hook. It autolocked onto her forearm. She carefully detached it and relocked it onto her chest.

"You sure you can hold me?" Florida wasn't exactly the strongest person on the team.

" _Don't worry, I've got you."_

"Okay. Ready." The hook tugged at her chest and started slowly lifting, supporting her weight. She leaned back and walked up the rock wall. Eventually, she reached a ledge and pulled herself over. Florida was leaning causally against the rock, finger on the handle of the grappling hook. He had lodged it between two rocks, letting the solid structure support her weight rather than trying to do so himself. Florida may not have been the strongest of the freelancers, but he was certainly resourceful. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Noooooo problem!" Florida sang happily, helping her detach the hook. "Wyoming, buddy, how does it look?"

" _You should have about a minute before the next patrol comes."_

Arizona glanced at Florida. "What do you mean 'about' a minute?"

" _These blokes aren't exactly the epitome of military precision. And now it's closer to fifty seconds."_ He paused. _"Maine thinks you can make the jump."_

Arizona looked at where she knew the base was. The ledge they were resting on was in a good position to regroup, but the rock wall blocked their view to the base. "Tell Maine if he wants to kill us, he should have the balls to do so directly."

" _Yes, I do enjoy living, thank you,"_ Wyoming responded. _"I think I will let you tell him."_

" _Hey, Zo,"_ Wash's voice crackled over the radio after a moment. Arizona could hear Wyoming's protests to give back his rifle in the background. _"I think Maine's right. One of you can make the jump. You just have to do the Draffen move."_

"Man. I hate that move. Wyoming, couldn't you just shoot anyone who comes around the corner?"

" _Maybe if someone gave me back my bloody rifle."_

"I would be happier if we remained undetected," Florida said.

"Happier? I thought you only had one setting of constantly happy." Florida shook his head, but she could practically feel him smiling. It was too damn hard to stay mad at Florida. "Okay," she said, "who wants to fly into the wild blue yonder?"

Florida attached his hook to his chestpiece and silently clipped the handle onto Arizona's back. He then positioned himself as the 'anchor.' "Guess that answers that," she muttered. "Wyoming, on your mark."

" _Copy."_ Wyoming was silent for a moment. _"Get ready."_ Arizona positioned herself a few feet behind Florida, one foot pressed against the wall behind her to give herself better leverage. _"Mark."_

Arizona ran forward, grasping Florida's outstretched arm. She leapt off the edge of the cliff as Florida swung her, using his other arm to keep himself from flying off the cliff after her. The second she could see the wall of blue base, she let go.

It was close. Arizona was just able to wrap her fingers over the edge of the wall. The rest of her body slammed against the concrete, threatening to lock her armor. She gave herself a moment to catch her breath. "Wyoming?" she gasped.

" _Clear. You have some cover thirty steps to your right."_

Arizona heaved herself over the edge of the wall and immediately moved right, pulling out her pistol and sweeping the area as she did so. She ducked behind the crates Wyoming had pointed out and positioned herself against the wall, switching her pistol for the grappling gun on her back. "Okay, Florida. Ready."

" _Mark."_

Arizona held on as Florida's weight transferred onto the gun. She could feel when he contacted the wall – he did so with a lot more grace than she had – and after a few seconds, he was next to her. She handed him back his grappling gun.

" _Entrance looks to be clear from here, fellows,"_ Wyoming said. _"But I can't see past concrete."_

"Hang on, I'll set my trackers," Arizona said. She reached up to her helmet and fiddled around with the controls for a moment. "Tell me when you can read them."

They waited for a moment for the trackers to calibrate and come online. It was probably their worst piece of technology, Arizona thought. The motion trackers were extremely helpful for sending information about movement within a closed compound, but they only worked for about a hundred-foot radius, they took a while to calibrate, and they were a heavy drain on the armor's power. Arizona had about twenty minutes before she would have to shut the trackers down or risk compromising her suit's other functions. Like breathing.

" _Online,_ " said Wyoming. _"Entrance is clear. You have three sims eight feet in and ten feet to the right. Nothing straight or on the left."_

"Cover me," Florida told Arizona. He broke cover and hurried toward the entrance. Arizona kept her pistol trained on the doorway, scanning for any movement. _"Zo, how are you at lockpicking?"_

"What kind of lock is it?" she asked.

" _Umm…"_

"Yeah, I can pick it. Cover." She ran toward Florida, keeping her head low. "Huh. Hololock. A little advanced for a place like this," she muttered. Florida glanced at her.

"Can you open it?"

"Yeah. Just give me a minute. Wyoming, let me know if those sims move."

" _Copy."_

Arizona set to work on the lock, being extremely careful not to set the alarm off. Trusting her teammates to alert her to movement, she allowed Logic to take over completely. _Let's see, it can't be a complicated pattern, otherwise the sims wouldn't be able to remember it. I bet if I try…_ "Got it," Arizona said as the door hissed open. "Moving." She entered the building, doing a quick sweep of the facilities. The three sims Wyoming had warned them about must be behind a wall, because she couldn't see them. "Clear."

Florida stepped in, doing a sweep himself and staying on the opposite side of the hallway as her. _"I have something on the edge of the trackers,"_ Wyoming said. _"Keep going straight."_

"And is straight _toward_ the movement, or away from it?" Arizona asked, complying as she did so.

" _Toward. I want to see…oh, yes. That is interesting."_

"Talk to me, Wyoming."

" _Quite a bit of movement. More than should be here for this base."_

"We will check it out," Florida said quietly. He nodded toward Arizona, and they moved quickly through the hallway. Beside the three troopers at the entrance, they didn't come close to anyone else. Until…

"Oh, shit," Florida breathed. Arizona did a double take at him. Did Florida just…swear? Um. _Could_ Florida swear? Was it, like, physically possible for him?

But then, looking down, Arizona decided he had a good reason to.


	9. A Flowery Treatment

"Don't. Move." Florida hissed.

"Got it." Arizona whispered back. She considered entering armor lock, but then, she would have to wait for one of her teammates to unlock her again. It was too risky. No, she would just have to stay very… _very_ …still.

" _Guys? What's going on in there?"_ Wash asked.

"We have a…" Florida trailed off, staring at the mechanized…entity in front of them. The one with its cannons directed straight toward Arizona. "Thing."

" _There are one and a quarter million words in the English language, chap."_ Wyoming replied. _"Try using a few more of them."_

"It's a…it's like a Mantis. But bigger."

" _How much bigger?"_ Wash asked.

"A lot bigger." Florida paused, clearly trying to guess the size of the machine without moving. "Forty feet tall? Uh, six mortar sets. Pelican shield generator. Motion sensors. Oh, wait, no, those are heat sensors."

" _What?"_ hissed Arizona.

"Yeah, sorry, run."

" _Hostile forces detected. Engaging target."_

"FUCK YOU, FLORIDA!" Arizona screamed as she dove toward the only place she would be safe; on top of the Mantis. It was standing in an open room, surrounded by a balcony. She pushed off the banister and hurtled toward the massive machine, landing squarely on the 'nose.' _So much for stealth._ "This doesn't seem like standard issue equipment!" she called into her radio as the Mantis turned, crunching the floor below.

"It's not," Florida replied. She looked back at where she had left him, but he seemed to have disappeared.

"Florida? Where –"

"Above you." She looked up. Florida was crouched on the rafters above her. He looked like a fucking blue Spiderman. _So he is half-monkey._ He unclipped a few grenades from his belt and lined them up on the rafter. "Mind opening one of those panels for me?" he asked calmly. The Mantis started firing the automatic turrets on either side, deafening Arizona. She flashed Florida a thumbs up and climbed higher onto the Mantis, looking for a way to pry open one of the panels.

" _Lots of movement your way,"_ Wyoming warned them.

"What's lots?" Arizona shouted. She wondered if they could hear her over the turrets.

" _Three floors, looks like about ten troopers on each floor. They're going to try to surround you."_ She heard the low worry in his voice. He muttered something, probably to Maine and Wash, before turning his speaker back up. _"Can you hold your position?"_

"Uh…" Arizona gripped the Mantis as it swung wildly, trying to throw her off. "I guess. Hey, anyone have Mantis schematics in their HUD that they can send my way?"

" _Maine does. Sending them now,"_ Wash told her. After a moment, a holographic image of a Mantis appeared in the corner of her visor. She looked down at the machine under her, and holographic mechanical information overlaid on the physical metal. She found the attachment point between two panels. It looked like they were held together by two small levers that allowed the panels to slide over the Mantis' body without hindering movement. She took out her pistol and waited for the movement to expose one of the levers.

It took her three tries, but she was able to damage both levers well enough to pry one of the panels off. "Perfect," Florida said as she threw the panel to the floor.

" _Incoming troops. You have five seconds."_

"Clear out!" Florida called as he readied a grenade.

" _Four."_

Arizona jumped toward the balcony as Florida dropped three grenades into the exposed machinery of the Mantis.

" _Three."_

She ran. Yeah, sure, she was probably running toward sim troopers. But they wouldn't be a problem.

" _Two."_

She heard footsteps and shouts around the corner, but didn't stop. When the Mantis blew, she had to be clear.

" _One."_

"I've got a green!" she heard someone shouting behind her. "It's them!"

Arizona barely had time to roll through an open door before she heard the explosion behind her. She kicked the door panel as shrapnel flew down the open hallway, sending the door hissing down just in time. Taking a few deep breaths, she stood, examining her surroundings. "Huh," she muttered to herself, walking forward. "This could be useful."

The room looked like the control center for the base. Not large, but it had several computer terminals and a holo-table. _I bet I could get into some trouble here._ She was distracted as the sound of shrapnel settling outside gave way to screams. Some were agonized, others terrified. The blast had probably ripped apart most of the troopers that were trying to ambush them. _Florida._ Was he able to clear the blast? "Florida? You okay?" she asked over the radio.

" _Fit as a fiddle!"_ Florida piped. _"We made a bit of a mess out here."_

"Yeah, I can hear," Arizona replied. "Hey, I found their control room."

" _Be there in a jiffy."_

 _Where the hell does he get all these old idioms?_ "What's it looking like on the outside?"

" _No movement,"_ Wyoming answered.

" _Yeah, but you just caused a small earthquake,"_ Wash added helpfully. _"So I think they know we're here."_

"Thank you for the tactical analysis, Wash. Wyoming, can you see anything new on the trackers?" Arizona asked as she approached one of the terminals. It was even easier to crack into than the lock had been. She started scanning the files for communication logs.

" _Nothing new. Freelancer history has been made; no one is trying to attack you! Make some friends over there?"_

"Yeah, we were having a real blast. Oh, goddammit, not like that," she hissed as Maine chortled over the radio. "Seriously, what is it with you and the fucking puns?" She turned as the door opened. Florida waltzed in, dragging an injured sim trooper behind him. "Who's this?"

"Just a new pal!" Florida chirped. He tossed the blue soldier to the ground, where the man groaned and curled up in pain. "My goodness, what do we have here?"

"Com logs," Arizona answered as she found the correct file. She started skimming over the logs within blue base. Most of it was stupid, immature banter. Some of it was even stupider and more immature basewide orders. And man, there was a lot of it. She gave up after a few minutes and switched to the records between blue base and command. Again, most of it was useless.

"Finding anything?" Florida asked her after a few minutes.

"No…" Arizona said slowly, still skimming. "Nothing useful."

"What about that 'super-secret plans' folder?"

Arizona glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. "I just figured it was porn," she replied honestly.

"It is!" the injured sim trooper squeaked from the floor. "We thought it was a clever way to hide it, but I guess it's not, heh heh!"

" _Florida, Arizona,"_ Wyoming said over the radio, _"I'm sending in Washington and Maine to clean up."_

"Copy," Arizona replied. "West entrance is already unlocked. Front is an active minefield. Don't know about the east entrance, but I will send you the codes that worked for the west." She turned to the aptly named 'super-secret plans' folder and tried to open it. "You've got to be kidding," she muttered. "It requires bio-confirmation."

Florida looked down at the injured soldier, who seemed to shrink back. "What kind?"

"Fingerprints."

Florida walked toward the soldier and helped him up. The man was bleeding from a shrapnel wound in his stomach and his leg was covered in black soot. He let Florida take most of his weight as the freelancer guided them toward the console. Arizona peeled the man's armored glove off and pressed his hand into the receiver. _Access denied._ "Not high enough of a rank, huh, kid?" she asked. She glanced at Florida. "I guess we could drag a few more bodies in here."

"Well, I could go dig through some of the body parts. There have to be some intact arms somewhere."

"Oh. That bad?" She studied the receiver. "I might be able to hack it, but it will take some time."

It was strange, Arizona thought, how well she seemed to be able to sense when Florida was grinning. It had to be some subtle change in his posture. "It was a large explosion. But," he added, his spirits clearly high, "we might not need to access the logs." He looked at sim trooper he was supporting.

"You think someone without clearance is going to know what's going on?"

"Oh, Zo, I think you overestimate these troopers. Very little regard for protocol. I wouldn't be surprised if only their Captain had clearance, simply because they never bothered to submit the paperwork for anyone else." He shifted the trooper and set him gently in a chair, then crouched in front of him. "Alright, buddy. My friends and I have a few questions for you, and then we will get you all patched up, okay?"

Arizona rolled her eyes. Judging from Florida's voice, he _actually_ intended to help the fake soldier once they were finished. The good-humored freelancer would probably drag the kid on his back all the way to the extraction point. _"We are almost to the east gate,"_ Wash said into her radio.

"Copy. Let me know when you need the codes."

"Okay, first question," Florida sang. _For the love of all that is holy, why did I have to get stuck with him on the one mission where he decided to actually talk?_ She briefly considered letting Happiness take over. She had been switching between primarily Logic and Aggression, but neither would be able to tolerate the hurricane force cheerfulness Florida was currently exuding for much longer. "It looks like your base stopped responding to Command about a week ago. Why is that?"

"I…I don't…" the sim gasped.

"Here," Arizona said, kneeling in front of him. She did a quick scan of his injuries. Abdominal bleeding, second degree burn on the outer left thigh. Neither lethal, but both painful. She pulled back the flap under the armor on his right arm and checked the wires. Yes, one of them had come loose. She reattached it, and the suit's healing protocols activated. "That should help with the pain."

"Th-thanks," he muttered.

"Come here, Florida. We can try to hack this while we wait for the pain meds to kick in."

Florida bounced to her side. "How long should that take?"

She shrugged. "Three to five minutes. Keep your hand here." She worked for the next few minutes, repositioning Florida's hand and skimming through the readouts, trying to find the combination of fingerprints that she could simulate to open the logs.

" _At the east gate."_

" _All clear,"_ Wyoming told them.

" _Zo, what are those codes?"_

Arizona leaned back. "Hook me into your HUD, I will show you how to put them in." She heard Florida wander back toward their patient as Wash's view flashed across her visor. She guided him through the steps to opening the lock. Wash was actually pretty good with the lock himself. He probably could have broken in without her. But he would have tripped an alarm.

"I think we are feeling just peachy, now!" Florida sang.

"Alright, radio me if you run into anymore locks," Arizona said, switching back to her own view. She leaned against the holo-table. "How's the pain?"

"Wow. Better," the sim trooper told her. His speech was slightly slurred, but he seemed alert enough. Florida had removed his helmet. The man was probably about Wash's age. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. Features that made it more difficult to discern a lie. Great.

"Good, good," Florida crooned softly. He put a gentle hand on the sim's shoulder. "So let's talk about Command."

"I don't really know what goes on between Captain and Command," the sim trooper muttered.

Florida sighed. "Come on, kiddo. We don't need to be lying to each other. We're all friends."

The man looked up at Florida. His expression was skeptical. "You just blew up half my base. You killed my friends."

Florida shook his head. "I _am_ very sorry about that. Truly. I wish we could be meeting under better circumstances. Nothing is more important to me than the wellbeing of my team." He paused. "But your Mantis did attack us first."

"Right," the man responded. But despite Florida's gentle probing, he kept his mouth shut. Florida sighed and leaned back.

"He doesn't trust us," Arizona said on a closed channel to Florida.

"I know," Florida responded. "But I have a few techniques that I think will make him feel more open to communicating."

Arizona rolled her eyes and leaned her head back in exasperation. "Dude, if you are going to try some new-age calming technique…" she warned as Florida approached the man and very gently rested his unarmored hand on the table, "I'm going to have to call bull – holy fuck!"

The man screamed in agony as Florida leaned back, his knife jammed through the man's hand and into the table. "Oh god, why? Why?" the man wailed, clutching at the knife with his free hand.

"Ah, ah," Florida said happily, resting his palm on the knife's grip so the man couldn't yank it out. "Now, that would actually cause quite a bit of damage. We don't really have the means to heal you out here." Arizona took a step away from Florida, shaking. She could _tell_ , could fucking _tell_ from the tone of his voice, from that happy little bounce in his step, that he was _fucking smiling._

"Please!" the man screamed as Florida gave the knife a little wiggle. "Please, I only know that we were supposed to set up a trap!"

"Good!" Florida responded, and he sounded genuinely pleased with his captive's answer. "The trap with the Mantis? It was pretty clever, don't you think, Arizona?"

" _Wyoming,_ " Arizona hissed into the radio, _"why the hell didn't you warn me Florida was a fucking psychopath?"_ She could see that the transmission went through, but Wyoming was noticeably silent.

Florida pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the table, legs swinging in a childlike manner over the edge. "What else do you know?"

"That's it, I swear!"

Florida leaned forward and patted him on the head, like he was a puppy. "I know this is hard for you," he said softly, comfortingly. "Seeing your friends hurt, watching them die, being injured yourself…in fact, you know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put a knife through your hand." He leaned over and yanked the knife out, causing the trooper to scream again. "There. Better?" He reached down and steadied the sim with a hand on the shoulder. "Okay, now what else can you tell us?"

"F…fuck…you…"

"Zo, I am concerned that these men aren't really learning what it means to be a team player," Florida said.

Arizona raised her hands in innocence. "Leave me the hell out of this."

Florida shrugged, then looked back at the man, who cringed back. "Okay, okay!" he cried. "All I know is the Captains on the red and blue teams found something out from Command, and the next thing we know we are working together to set up an ambush."

"Ambush for how many people?" Arizona asked, leaning forward. Florida was spinning his knife happily.

"Five," the trooper gasped.

She exchanged a quick glance with Florida. "Where did you get that number?"

"Captain said we would have five operatives landing," he responded, eyeing Florida's knife apprehensively. "And that we needed to set up a decoy and an ambush."

"What was the decoy?"

"The minefield in the front and the Mantis."

Arizona frowned. "The Mantis was a decoy?" The man nodded. "Then what…" Arizona's eyes widened. She and Florida went for their radios simultaneously.

"Wash! Maine!" Arizona screamed as Florida connected with Wyoming. "Get out of–"

Her transmission was interrupted as the base shook with an enormous explosion from the east compound.


	10. White and Grey

Washington wasn't certain exactly what happened.

One minute, he and Maine were discussing if they needed to radio in Zo to unlock a door. Maine thought Wash could do it on his own. Wash wasn't as certain. As if to prove his point, Zo radioed them. He had just enough time to register that she sounded panicked.

Then all he could hear was an annoying ringing.

He tried to swat at his ears, to get rid of the source of the ringing. He couldn't move his arms.

 _Oh,_ he thought, slowly. _Maybe I should open my eyes. Yeah. That seems like a good idea._

Once he opened his eyes, he realized he wasn't standing anymore. That was odd. He looked around and thought _Oh, look at that. We don't have to unlock the door._ Because the door wasn't there anymore. Nor was the wall. Or the floor.

Or Maine.

_Shit!_

Wash transferred the power in his suit and pushed at the chuck of concrete pinning his arm down. After a few tries, it budged far enough for him to wiggle his way out. He got to his feet and scanned the area for a weapon, any weapon. The ringing continued, so he couldn't tell if there were any enemies nearby, and Maine was nowhere in sight, and he could see three transmissions coming in but he couldn't hear them, and _where was his fucking rifle?_

He felt the shots more than heard them. It was a familiar feeling, a dull reverberation that shook some of the dust from the broken concrete, and he latched onto it. Shots meant fighting. Fighting meant guns. Fighting meant sides. Fighting meant Maine.

The feeling seemed to be coming from below him. He walked - okay, fine, so maybe stumbled was more accurate - toward the enormous opening in the floor and peered down.

Eight sims were cautiously approaching the blast site, guns readied. Wash could see the familiar orange and white of Maine's armor buried in the wreckage. His friend wasn't moving, but the readings on the biocomm looked okay. Standard battle readings. No major injuries. Okay. That was good. Maine was okay.

Wash shifted his attention to arming himself. The ringing was subsiding - _bomb, they must have detonated a bomb. The blast was too big for a grenade -_ but he still couldn't hear well enough to understand the voices whispering into his radio. Hopefully they weren't telling him anything important. Oh well. Not much he could do now.

One of the sims below him was carrying a MA5B battle rifle. Perfect weapon for the situation, one Wash was extremely familiar with. The sim hadn't seen him. In a few more steps, Wash would be able to tackle him from above and hopefully disarm him. If he didn't manage to get the gun in time...no, he would get the gun in time. He had to. He had to get to Maine first.

So he jumped. The red sim never saw him, just gave a small 'hurk' as Wash's knife sank into the back of his throat. Wash ripped the knife out with his left hand and grabbed the rifle with the right, firing at the other sims as soon as he was able to stabilize the gun in the crook of his arm. Four sims fell immediately. The other three had the time and good sense to back away and take cover among the wreckage.

_"Wash, do you read? Maine? God fucking dammit, someone answer me!"_

_"Shots fired. They're in trouble."_

_"I'm approaching the site, six minutes."_

_"There's no way through this. We have to go around. Or over."_

_"MAINE! WASH! Do you read?!"_

"Yeah," Wash said into the radio. He backed toward where Maine was buried, sweeping his surroundings in case the remaining sims got any suicidal ideas. He heard a female voice curse in relief.

_"What's going on there? Are you hurt? I can't tap into your HUD."_

"Bomb went off," Wash replied. He started shifting concrete with his left hand, keeping his right on his gun. "Maine's okay, but he's buried. Don't know if I can get him out on my own."

There was a moment of silence. Washington suspected the other agents were conversing with one another, coming up with an extraction plan. Hopefully.

_"You still there, Wash?"_

Florida. "Yeah."

 _"Okay, we're coming to you as soon as we can. We have to find a way through, but you will be just fine, okay? I have complete faith in you."_ The transmission ended before Wash could respond. He tried to get back on with one of his teammates, but couldn't. Wait, Zo had said something about not being able to use his HUD. His helmet must have been damaged in the blast. Huh. Hopefully his head wasn't damaged along with it.

 _Alright, buddy. Let's get you out of there._ The remaining three sims didn't seem too likely to come out from their hiding spots. Maybe it was worth the risk to use both hands to dig. Maine's heartrate was increasing; he might not have much time left. Cautiously, Wash set the rifle down where it would be easy to grab and grasped a particularly large chunk of concrete that seemed to be directly above Maine's body.

After three full-body shoves, Wash was able to shift the chuck of concrete far enough that it tumbled from the pile, cracking when it reached the bottom of the wreckage. Maine shifted. "You in there, buddy?" Maine didn't respond, so Wash kept digging. "Shit!"

One of the sims must have missed the memo that these guys were Freelancers, because he stepped out from his cover to fire at Wash while Wash was unarmed. Bad mistake. He fell backwards, gasping, Wash's knife embedded in his chest.

Wash grabbed his rifle and stood. "Any more bad ideas?" he called, hoping his voice sounded angrier and more threatening on the outside than it did in his head. No movement from the sims.

Some movement under him, though. Wash knelt down and grabbed Maine's hand as it emerged, pulling as hard as he could without risking injury to himself or his friend. Maine shook himself free from the rubble. His helmet's visor was cracked near the temple and his chestplate was dented, but he seemed okay as he stood. He had managed to keep his gun with him as well. Good.

Before he had time to celebrate further, the air around them was filled with gunfire. Way too much gunfire for the remaining two sims. Wash barely had time to register the increased number of soldiers before a large hand was pushing him back toward cover. Wash returned fire under Maine's arm as the larger man protected Wash with his body.

"Maine, on your three!" Wash shouted as he moved to the opposite side of Maine, trying to take in the full scene. It was difficult with 80% of his vision blocked by white and orange armor. He had to move around. "Three approaching on your one!" he called, rolling to the side to provide cover fire. He and Maine knew this situation. They had been in it together many, many times. Maine drew most of the fire, and Wash was able to pick off all the mid-level and most of the distant threats, leaving Maine to kill anyone within hand-to-hand range.

The compound rumbled. _"Wash, you read?"_

"Go ahead!" Wash called into his radio, keeping most of his attention on the soldiers around them. There were ten, eleven, twelve...okay, at least twelve still alive. Unfortunately, the sims had managed to arrange themselves into an effective defensive position. They had to run out of bullets eventually, but it was difficult for Wash or Maine to move forward without compromising their positions of safety. And even two Freelancers might have some trouble running through twelve streams of bullets.

_"This compound is coming down. Florida and I can't get to you. We are going to try to meet you at the entrance. Can you get out?"_

Wash glanced at Maine, who rumbled "Copy. Moving." He nodded toward Wash, and they moved forward, each switching between moving from one position of cover to another and providing suppression fire for the other. They didn't need to call their movements, didn't need to waste precious time flashing hand signals. They _understood_ each other. In the same way that Maine could speak to Wash without using words, so too could they fight together without using comms.

So it was a big surprise when Wash moved forward and Maine's cover fire wasn't there.

He yelped and jumped back as one of the sims shot at him. Several bullets hit the armor, but nothing pierced through to his body. After securing his position, he looked back for Maine. "Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Maine, buddy!" he tried to call on his radio. But he still wasn't able to initiate a transmission. "Shit!"

Maine was slumped against a piece of rubble, holding his gun far too loosely. He was still firing, but the movement didn't have any of his usual ferocity. Wash sprinted toward him, stupidly disregarding his own safety, and crouched in front of the wounded man, facing outward to watch for enemy movement. "Maine, where are you hit?"

"Stomach," Maine huffed. "I'm okay. Just out of breath."

"Liar. Your radio working? Good, I need you to call Zo and Florida. Tell them we aren't able to make it to the exit."

"We can."

Wash glanced back at Maine. He was already getting to his feet. "Slow down. They can make it to us. We just need to hold our position. No rush." As if to prove that their was an all powerful deity that truly hated Washington, the compound rumbled again. A few more supports crumbled to the ground, bringing down a section of a wall and the ceiling above it a few feet from them. Maine looked at Wash pointedly. Wash cursed. "Call them anyway. Maybe the sims will run."

The sims didn't run. They just repositioned themselves so that they were closer to the support structures that were still intact. Wash and Maine were able to pick off two more of them as they ran from cover, but whoever had been in charge of this trap knew what they were doing. The sims had much better cover, clearly pre-positioned, than the Freelancers had.

 _"Got the call from Maine,"_ Zo's voice crackled in his radio. _"Just hold on. I have you on my trackers, but Wyoming says I only have a couple more minutes before I have to shut them down. We need you to move as far down that hallway as you can. I have eighteen more enemies on the trackers before you get out but they are pretty scattered. Florida and I can take care of the group at the exit. This place is coming down, Wash. We're running out of time."_

"Maine is hurt," Wash protested.

 _"Yeah, I know,"_ Zo spat back. She sounded more upset about it than he was. _"But he says he can still move, so he's gotta move. Florida is staying on with him, I'll let you know if he starts sounding bad."_

Wash thought Maine sounded pretty bad now, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. And besides, with Florida in his ear, Maine would likely fly into a murderous rampage within the next two minutes anyway. Cursing under his breath, he moved forward, listening to Maine's rumbling movements behind him. They were too heavy, too awkward. Despite his size, Maine was pretty nimble. That wasn't reflected in his current movements. Yeah, he was definitely hurt.

They moved together, Wash running forward to clear the next position of cover before providing suppression fire for Maine to move. The sims may have been commanded by someone who knew what they were doing, but they were still simulation troopers. Killing them was easy.

There were just a lot of them.

And as they neared the exit, the sims numbers finally gave them an actual advantage.

Assuming Zo was right, there should be ten more sim troopers to fight through before they cleared the entrance. And all ten seemed to be clustered, forming a wall of gunfire that blocked their way to the exit. Wash leaned back against the concrete barrier they were hiding behind, listening as the bullets ricocheted around them. _Wasting ammo._ Maybe, if they waited long enough, the sims would run out.

_"Wash, you read?"_

"Copy, Zo. Go ahead."

_"I had to shut my trackers off. Florida is putting his on but we can't move until they calibrate. How are you guys doing down there?"_

"We are almost to the exit, but we got ten sims blocking the way. Not sure how we're going to get around them."

There was silence for a moment. _"Okay, we will draw them out."_

"Don't do anything stup-" Wash ducked instinctively as a blast rang out behind the exit. He glanced at Maine, who gave a weak shrug. The sims rushed out of the exit, and Wash was able to kill two more as they broke cover.

_"You're clear. Wyoming is putting us in a five-way. Hang on."_

_"Does everyone read?"_ Wyoming's voice asked after a pause.

_"Copy."_

_"Copy!"_

Maine's voice was simultaneously gruff and weak. "Copy."

"Copy," Wash said last. He looked out the exit as he heard gunfire and screams over the radio - secondhand, they weren't the screams of his teammates - and saw that the sims were firing at something above them. Florida and Zo must have been on the floor above them.

 _"Good. Keep your lines open,"_ Wyoming ordered. _"I am thirty seconds out. You chaps have inbound aircraft."_

_"Friendlies?"_

_"Negative. I will get into position and try to hold the aircraft off. You and Arizona extract Maine and Wash."_ He paused. _"Hear that, lads? Sit tight, we are nearly there."_

Wash glanced at Maine. "Yeah, I agree," he said softly. Maine nodded, and they broke cover and ran toward the exit.

Immediately, Wash regretted their decision.

He was just raising his rifle to fire at the sim manning a turret when he felt himself being pushed to the ground. He stumbled forward from the unexpected force as he heard the turret fire.

 _"Shit! Maine, no!"_ Arizona screamed.

Wash looked up and froze in horror. Maine was right in front of him, on his hands and knees, blood pouring from his stomach and chest. A single shot went straight through the enemy gunner's head.

" _Wyoming, where the hell is extraction?"_

_"I'm not-"_

_"This is 479er, we are inbound, t minus eighty seconds."_

There was a flash of blue to Wash's right. He raised his rifle, prepared to kill the sim trooper, but it was just Florida. The small freelancer rushed toward Maine and forced the much larger man to his feet, Maine's arm wrapped over Florida's shoulder. Wash ran up to help, and they managed to drag Maine to cover. Florida leaned over him, tearing open the flap on his armor that held the suit's medical kit. He pulled out his small biofoam injector and gently applied it to the worst of the wounds. Wash did the same with his kit. "He's going into shock," Florida murmured, all his usual cheerful nature gone from his voice.

_"Arizona, Wyoming, do you copy? We have your position, but I ain't about to scratch this baby with turret fire."_

_"Copy that, 479er,"_ Zo answered. _"We will take them out."_

Wash glanced between the turrets and Maine. The three freelancers were currently crouched under a concrete tent, well out of sight of the turrets. But the line of sight worked both ways. "How many turrets do they have out there?" he asked Florida.

"Enough," Florida replied, applying pressure to the untreated bullet holes. _Shit. That's a lot of blood. That's too much blood._

"Can't we help them?"

"You will be more useful helping me prep him for evac," Florida replied. Wash didn't know how Florida kept his voice from shaking as he spoke. Wash's was already a few octaves higher than normal.

 _"We got this, Wash. You take care of Maine,"_ Zo said. He heard the distinctive sound of the sniper rifle firing, and one of the turrets stopped. Then again. The sims were screaming something about an airship going down, and a Pelican, and a - _BOOM._ Something crashed nearby, and Wash immediately grabbed Maine, keeping him steadied against the shock waves.

 _"We're landing. Be ready,"_ 479er said.

Florida instructed Wash in how to lift the now unconscious Maine without further injuring him, and Wash nodded numbly in response, although it was hard for him to focus on Florida's words. _Fuck, fuck, that's so much blood._

The Pelican touched down, and Florida and Wash dragged Maine toward it. Two medics were standing in the Pelican with a stretcher, but they didn't come out to them, they just waved for them to enter the ship. Why the fuck weren't they coming out? Couldn't they see that Maine was dying? It was just a few bullets coming down, Zo and Wyoming had the situation under control, so _why the fuck were the medics just standing there?_

They made it to the Pelican without being hit further. Florida transferred Maine's limp weight to one of the medics and crouched by the edge of the Pelican, returning fire. Wash stayed with Maine. Florida jumped down once the Pelican started to take off.

"What about the others?" Wash asked no one in particular. He didn't particularly care about the answer, either, because Maine was bleeding to death in front of him, and Wash had to save him. He _had_ to save him. He couldn't lose his best friend.

"They still need to complete their mission," replied an all too familiar voice. But Wash didn't step back to stand at attention or salute. The Director could punish his insubordination later. Maine needed him more. The Director stepped into the bay of the Pelican, where the medics and Wash were trying to staunch the bleeding. Wash with his hands, the medics with actual medical equipment. The Director looked down at Maine dispassionately. "We will discuss this later, Agent Washington."

"Yes sir," he heard himself saying, but he didn't care. The Director could kick him out of Project Freelancer and he wouldn't care. He just needed to make sure Maine was okay.

He needed Maine to be okay.


	11. Blame Game

It took Arizona almost another thirty minutes to crack the bioscan lock on the 'super-secret plans' folder. She let Logic take over, which helped, but it didn't silence Discontent's anger or Fear's worries or Passion's confused jumble of far-too-intense emotions.

 _I can't believe the Director won't extract us until we have this stupid folder,_ Discontent spat. If a fragmented aspect of a single personality trapped in a head with five other similar beings could pace with agitation, Discontent had certainly found the way to do so.

 _What if there is another trap?_ Fear asked, latching onto Discontent's agitation and amplifying it. _What if us trying to break in was what set off the first one? What if we killed Maine?_

 _Maine's not dead,_ Happiness told Fear soothingly. _He'll be fine. I think he's invincible._

 _No one is invincible,_ Passion replied. Her 'voice' cracked with fury and distress. But she didn't say anything else. She didn't need to.

"Wyoming, roll your index finger a little to the left," Logic said, placing a barrier between herself and the other aspects. She could worry about Maine later. And Wash, for that matter; there had been no word on if the younger soldier was injured. She scanned the readings as Wyoming complied. "Okay, I think I have it."

She inputted her 'fingerprints' and the folder opened. Florida plugged in a data chip to copy the information as Arizona radioed for extraction. "Don't you want to see what's in here?" Florida asked.

"I don't care. The Director wants the info, he has the info," she replied, voice relatively monotone thanks to Logic's control. Florida exchanged a glance with Wyoming that she was certain held entire tomes of meaning, but she didn't care. She just wanted to get back, to check on her friends. _Fucking simulation troopers…how the hell did_ Maine _get injured by simulation troopers?_

* * *

"Can't you stabilize him?" Wash hurried alongside the stretcher, unable to tear his eyes away from Maine's broken, bleeding body. His voice might have cracked. He wasn't sure. He didn't care.

"We're trying out best, sir," the medic closest to Wash said. He didn't sound very reassuring. Wash finally glanced at the man, glad for his helmet. Glad the medic couldn't see the pure panic his words had just inflicted upon a supposedly imperturbable Freelancer Agent.

"Is there something I can do?" Wash practically cried, getting desperate. He had held it together on the Pelican for the Director, but he wasn't certain how much longer he could maintain the false composure. They approached the doors leading out of the docking bay.

"Sorry, sir, you're going to have to wait here," the medic said, stepping in front of Wash and blocking him from following the stretcher toward surgery. "Medical crew only." He closed the door as Wash curled his fists. He _wanted_ to help, dammit!

He made to run his hand through his hair – a nervous habit he had carried through childhood – but stopped as it approached his helmet. He sighed, resigned. He wasn't a doctor. There wasn't anything else he could do. "Typical medic bullshit," he muttered, trying to somehow shift the blame onto the people trying to save his best friend's life, not wanting to admit how helpless he felt. He turned to jog to the viewing window as the sign illuminated indicating that surgery was in progress. At least he could be there to watch, to somehow feel like he was at least supporting Maine.

Wash approached the window and leaned forward, tapping his foot in agitation. Datapads and needle guns floated around in the zero gravity environment, giving the too-bright room an eerie atmosphere. Medics and doctors were gathering around Maine, gravboots enabled. They started to remove Maine's armor, letting the broken pieces float away. _Too much blood,_ Wash thought, for what had to have been the millionth time. _That's too much blood._

_Why the fuck did they give him white armor?_

He watched at Maine's helmet floated upward, bloody and cracked. Footsteps were approaching close behind, but he didn't particularly care. He was staying here, dammit, and none of the fucking medics were going to tell him otherwise.

"Agent Washington," demanded a far too familiar voice, "status report."

"Maine was injured, sir," Washington replied, snapping to attention automatically. It occurred to him that the Director already knew Maine was injured. The man had been on the Pelican with them. Had even helped to stabilize Maine. _Oh. The mission. He wants to know about the mission._ "We failed the objective." His voice dropped a little. _Florida and Arizona. They're still there. Any Wyoming. Maybe we didn't really fail._

But the Director latched onto the weakness. "How were two soldiers of your caliber possibly hurt by simulation troopers?" There was a sneer, a judgement in his voice. A judgement toward Maine.

"They…" _They blew up their own goddamn compound! We were at the center of the explosion!_

_Wyoming told us we were clear._

_Arizona said she could get us in._

But that wasn't fair. His teammates had done nothing wrong. _I didn't recognize the threat._ Him. It was his fault Maine was lying on an operating table, with too much blood on his armor and in the air and anywhere besides _still in his fucking body._ "They got the jump on us," he finally managed to spit. He wasn't certain if the anger was directed toward himself or the dispassionate man standing before him. Maybe both.

"Disappointing," the Director said, giving his head a small shake, "but we'll deal with that after surgery." And Wash decided that yeah, that hatred and anger was definitely pointed toward the fucking Director. The stupid Director and his stupid missions, which didn't even matter, they were just to test if they worked well as a team. It was the Director's fault that Maine was lying there, the Director's fault that he might lose his best friend, the Director who –

 _Quiet,_ he told himself. _The Director has given you everything. You weren't good enough. That's why Maine is hurt._

"Yes, sir," he managed as the Director continued down the hall, not even giving a single glance toward his injured soldier below. Once the Director was gone, Wash spun around, looking through the window. _Too much blood._ "Come on, buddy. Hang in there."

* * *

They stood at attention before the Director and the Counselor as the latter took the data chip from Florida's outstretched hand and plugged it into his datapad, skimming through the documents. "And you are certain everything is there?" the Director asked.

"All logs that were on the terminal, sir," Florida answered.

"Good. Agent Wyoming, report."

Arizona barely listened as Wyoming detailed exactly all the ways the mission went wrong, occasionally interrupted by Florida to add or correct some point. The Director did not seem to mind the interruptions from Florida, though Arizona knew that coming from any other Agent, the offense would be reprimanded. At the moment, she didn't particularly care about the inconsistency. She just wanted to go to med bay and wait for Maine. Or, if he couldn't be moved, see if she could coerce 479er into dropping her off at the Angel on My Shoulder Medical Station, where she learned Maine had been transported. She briefly wondered how good the pilot simulation training was. _I could probably fly a smaller ship, if I couldn't find a pilot. Might even be able to land it._

 _Yeah, crash into a medical station,_ Discontent muttered. _Perfect way to show your support._

"Agent Arizona!"

Arizona blinked, shaking her head slightly. The Director's voice had a tone that suggested he had tried to get her attention multiple times. She saluted, automatically. "Yes, sir!"

His sunglasses obscured his eyes, but his body language emoted the eye roll well enough. "Do you have anything to add?"

"No, sir." Florida and Wyoming exchanged another glance, but neither said anything.

"I see. Very well, you are dismissed." All three agents saluted and turned to leave.

"Hold on a moment, Agent Arizona," the Counselor said. Arizona stopped and walked back toward them. She could see Florida and Wyoming standing by the doorway. Wyoming awkwardly, Florida with a quiet, easy confidence that suggested he was supposed to be there. _Probably why he's internal recon._ Florida had an unsettling knack for slipping onto a scene unnoticed.

"Counselor?" the Director prompted as the Counselor frowned at his datapad.

"Florida said you examined the unsecured documents prior to the…incident with Maine?" the Counselor asked.

 _'_ _Incident?' Half the compound blew up._ "Yes, sir."

"And you chose not to warn your teammates about the trap until Agents Maine and Washington were in position to activate the detonation?"

"I…" Arizona's brain froze. "Um…what?"

The Counselor held the datapad in front of her so that she could read it. She could feel the Director standing over her shoulder. There, in the internal communication logs she had read while Florida was comforting the wounded sim trooper, were the details to the trap the sims had set up. The instructions, the locations for detonation, the information they had on the five operatives that would be entering the field – everything was there, in plain sight.

 _No, that can't be right. I read it! I read everything! I would have seen something that important!_ "Was…" She swallowed, trying to keep her suddenly dry throat from making her voice crack. "Sir, is there a possibility that was in the encrypted file?"

"It was in the open communication log you examined, Agent." The Counselor's voice was level, but it sounded cooler than she thought possible of the warm man.

"Well, Agent?" the Director prompted as Arizona continued to stare at the file as though if she looked hard enough, it would tell her how she missed it. She could feel Wyoming and Florida glowering at her. She briefly wondered if her armor was good enough to stop the knives Florida would probably soon be throwing.

"I…" she started. But she had no idea how to finish. A huge weight was growing in the pit of her stomach. _It's my fault. It's all my fault._ "I have no explanation, sir," she finally managed.

Had Florida already thrown a knife? She could have sworn he did from the hot, tingling sensation on the back of her neck. She sort of hoped he had.

"I see. Disappointing." The Director hung his head, shaking it slowly. He held his hand out, and the Counselor gave him the datapad. He moved a few things on the screen before handing Arizona the data chip. "Agent Maine will be arriving tonight. You will show him this and explain why he is injured. Do I make my intentions clear?"

Arizona took the chip, unable to keep her hands from shaking. The idea of facing Maine, of facing Wash, of not just telling them but demonstrating exactly how much she was to blame… _where's the nearest airlock?_ "Yes, sir," she whispered.

"Good. You are dismissed." Arizona nodded and backed away.

"Oh, and Agent? Usual time," the Counselor told her as she turned. She nodded numbly as she approached the doors, not looking directly at Florida and Wyoming.

Because if Florida and Wyoming managed to look so betrayed, how the hell was she going to face Maine?


	12. The Secret Garden

Arizona turned the chip over in her fingers, knees brought up to her chest as she sat on her bed in medical. Maine was arriving soon. She had watched the Pelican coming in, knew that he would be rolling into the room any minute.

It was a good thing she was in medical, because she was fairly certain she was going to be sick.

A tiny part of her, the Discontent part, suggested simply not showing the chip to Maine or Wash. It wasn't terribly likely the Director would actually check up to see if she followed through with her orders. She could still take the blame, but if she did so without any concrete evidence they would just think she was trying to be a good friend, or felt guilty because she was on recon. They would never have to know exactly how badly she messed up, exactly how much it actually _was_ her fault.

A much bigger part of her knew that she wasn't showing them the files just because the Director told her to.

She jumped a little as the doors to the medical bay opened. Two medics were wheeling a stretcher between them, with Wash following like an anxious puppy. He helped them transfer Maine onto the bed.

 _Holy shit…_ even bandaged up and post-op, Maine looked terrible. Half his armor was missing, but not all of it, making his limbs look swollen and oversized and his torso shrunken. His Kevlar undersuit was cut away around the chest and stomach, clashing with the pseudoskin and bandages covering the wounds. Blood had dried onto everything. _Whose bright idea was it to assign him white armor?_

"Zo!" Wash spotted her and ran over, embracing her tightly and inadvertently pulling her off the ground. He had at least eight inches on her, maybe a little more. It actually hurt quite a bit, because he was still dressed in his full battlesuit and she was in fatigues, but she didn't say anything. Six aspects, and suddenly none of them wanted to talk. Figured. "You're okay," Wash said, not releasing her to see that since he started hugging her, no, she actually wasn't okay, she was suffocating. "You're okay. You're okay." It was like he was trying to convince himself, ground himself. Like he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Wash," she finally managed to spit, because despite previously wanting to throw herself out an airlock or 'accidentally' get into some of the more dangerous medical supplies, when faced with her own mortality via friendly hugs, a primal part of her decided she wanted to live after all.

He dropped her immediately. "Sorry!" he cried, touching a hand to her shoulder to steady her as she gasped. The first few breaths were to resupply her oxygen levels. The next few were to quell the panic, to soften the enormous rock of guilt that was quickly building in her chest.

"S'ok," Arizona finally managed. She looked again at Maine. "How is he?"

Wash stood, back straight. One of his indications of stress, she had learned. "Not…not good. Doctor wants to keep him under for a few days. He's, uh…not a very good patient."

Arizona nodded, tapping the chip against the side of her leg. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Always tries to leave early," Wash said softly, walking back toward Maine's bed as the medics finished hanging their equipment and left their patient. He sank into the chair near Maine's head, leaving Arizona to stand by his waist. She didn't want to pull up a chair. Sitting down, starting a vigil…it wasn't her place. It would be an intrusion. "Hates needles, too," Wash continued, oblivious to Arizona's discomfort.

She started. "Wait, really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Weird thing for a guy like him, right? Always thought he would be afraid of something more sinister. Like, I don't know, squirrels or Carolina." _He's trying to distract himself,_ Arizona realized.

So she encouraged him. Because Wash didn't need to hear exactly why Maine was injured now. He didn't need to be reminded. He just needed a friend. "Um. Squirrels?"

"Little fucks."

Giving in and stealing a chair from the next bed over, Arizona forced a smile. "There has to be a story behind that one."

Wash chuckled. "Did I ever tell you about my cats?"

Arizona leaned forward, trying to study Wash's expression through his visor. An entirely hopeless endeavor, but it gave her something to look at besides the neglected chip. "Just that you had two of them."

"Yeah." He was smiling, she could tell from his voice. "Cleocatra and Mr. McMuffins. Shut up," he said as Arizona failed to stifle her laughter. "I named them when I was, like, ten."

"You would have picked the same names now," she teased.

" _Anyway,"_ he plowed forward, his helmet giving the little tilt that indicated an exasperated roll of the eyes, "we had this little grove of trees near my house. And the cats liked to go over there, climb and run around. But they always came back with a bunch of acorn shells stuck in their fur. Took us forever to figure it out, I actually just followed the cats and watched them for a couple hours one day. Turns out there was a whole legion of angry squirrels that would pelt them with broken acorns whenever the cats got too close. They got me pretty good, too. My grandma wouldn't stop laughing."

He paused, looking down at Maine. "Squirrel legion, huh?" Arizona prompted, trying to keep his attention elsewhere. Trying to keep _her_ attention elsewhere.

"Yeah. Little fuckers," Wash said matter-of-factly. He finally took off his helmet. Arizona could practically see him trying to simply will Maine into full health.

"Definitely scarier than needles."

"Four rounds to the lower abdomen," Wash said suddenly. "One in the left kidney. Three in the liver. Two in the left lung." His expression was flat, unreadable as he spoke.

"Oh," Arizona breathed. She wasn't sure what to say. Probably nothing, since the guilt was coming back in full force again, stealing the air from her lungs as effectively as the bullets had stolen the air from Maine's.

"I should have made him stay." Wash's voice was broken. Like he had given up. "He was already hit when we were getting close to extraction. And he had to have been hurt from the explosion. But I let him follow me."

"Wash…"

"Don't say it's not my fault," Wash snapped, voice suddenly sharp. "Because it is. He took that turret fire for me, because I left cover, because I wasn't fast enough to kill the gunner." He touched Maine's arm gently, subconsciously. Something he would never do if Maine were awake. "It should have been me."

Arizona swallowed. She couldn't decide if she was glad Wash's helmet was off so he couldn't see her bios (although without her armor, they wouldn't be terribly accurate anyway) or if she wanted him to put it back on so she could avoid seeing his eyes. Grey-blue eyes. Sometimes bright, sometimes stormy. Eyes befitting his codename.

She wondered, strangely, if that's how he ended up with 'Washington.'

"It wasn't you," she finally managed.

He rounded on her. "Didn't I just tell you–"

"Wash." Something in her voice made him actually shut up and listen. She slipped the data chip into his hand, hoping he didn't feel how clammy hers were. "Florida and I found their communications terminal," she said softly.

"Yeah, I know." He wasn't getting it. Wasn't understanding that it was her fault.

She had to keep going. To actually explain. "There were…some encrypted files. But most of them were open. And, um…" she trailed off. God, how was she going to do this? The idea of telling Maine had been bad enough, but somehow admitting her mistake to Wash was even worse. At least she knew Maine could (and probably would) justifiably kill her when he was well and be done with it. But Wash? Wash was like the team's little brother.

And like a stubbornly curious child, he was already plugging the chip into the datapad next to Maine's bed. The Counselor had flagged the file that detailed the plans for the trap, so of course Wash opened it immediately. His eyes widened as he skimmed the information, then narrowed. "What is this?"

Did the ship have trapdoors? If it did, now would be a great time for one to swallow her. She didn't care what was below. Maybe some turrets. That would be poetic justice, wouldn't it? "It's my fault," she whispered. She couldn't look at Wash. It was literally less painful to examine the ten wounds on Maine's body than see the one she had just inflicted on the youngest agent.

"Did you…did you know?"

"No!" she cried, turning toward Wash in desperation. "I swear, Wash. I swear. I had no idea. But the Counselor said…these files. They weren't encrypted." She hung her head, wishing Wash would put his helmet back on, wishing she didn't have to feel those hurt eyes boring into her. "I missed them. When I was reading."

"You missed them."

It wasn't a question. And while it didn't hold the same type of disappointment as the Director, somehow Wash's disappointment was worse. Not a disappointment in her failure, but a realization that Maine never needed to be injured. The bomb never needed to go off. The sims never should have gotten the chance to fire at them.

"I think you should go," he told her quietly.

She didn't look at him as she stood. Didn't point out that she slept in med bay, that she didn't have anywhere else to go. For once, she wanted to get as far away from Wash as she could. The guilt was so heavy. Too heavy. Like the too much blood that had poured from Maine.

Wash gave a single dry sob before the doors closed behind her, and Arizona could feel the precise moment when her mind snapped. Her aspects were held together in a single ball, a single, fragile glass ball. Some things cracked the ball, like a poorly executed fight or a reminder of the person she had once been. Other things repaired the ball, like a sense of belonging or a well-performed job.

The guilt didn't crack the ball. It crushed it. And for a moment, nothing was holding Arizona together. She sank to her knees and cradled her head in her hands, rocking as Passion and Discontent whizzed out from behind their confinement and started tearing at everything she was, while Aggression screamed and Fear whimpered and Happiness fled and Logic tried desperately to hold everyone together.

She ran her hands along the floor, feeling for the pieces. She was broken, she was shattered, why couldn't she feel the fragments of her mind around her? Her whole body was there. Right? She checked, running her fingers down her legs, down her arms. Hugging herself. Rocking. Everyone was screaming, shouting. So loud. Too loud.

"Hush, hush."

But they wouldn't hush. They were all screaming. Was she screaming? Who was she, anyway? There were six voices in her head and none of them was her own. She couldn't hear them, even though they were so loud. They were all talking over each other, scrambling their voices, mixing her thoughts. Were they her thoughts? Was she them?

"Look at me, Zo. Look at me."

Who was me? Am I me? _We are you._

"Zo. Arizona."

She had a body. Right? Yes, of course she did, she had checked for it. She touched her head, trying to hold her mind together with her fingers. If she held her mind together, she could look up.

Just had to hold it together.

"Arizona."

Someone was talking about vacations. Was it her? Maybe. She couldn't quite tell. Was she a she? Was she a he? Or a them? Maybe she/he/they wanted to go, to lay in the sun of the American desert, to see the cracks in the clay walls that so resembled her mind…

"Echo."

Echoes. So many echoes. So many voices.

_Wait. Echo._

_Arizona._

_That's me._

She looked up, uncertain how long the moment of clarity would last. Her vision was blurred. Did she suffer a concussion? It might explain her jumbled thoughts.

No. That wasn't it. Those were tears.

Florida was holding her shoulders. Keeping her from tipping over. Tipping over what?

Over the edge.

"Come on," he was saying, helping her stand. "I want to show you something."

 _The afterlife._ Two voices suggested it. One filled with hope, the other with dread.

But there were too many voices battling for control, so her body simply did as it was told. She stood and followed Florida. Maybe to her execution. Hopefully to her execution.

She didn't know where they were going. He was leading her along the maintenance corridor of the ship. Plumbers and electricians and gravity techs nodded to Florida as they passed, as though he was a usual passerby. He stopped in front of a supply closet and keyed in a passcode.

 _Flowers._ The word broke through the jumble, rose above the chaos. Her body stepped forward slowly, taking in the scene. It _was_ a supply closet, but it had been converted. Orchids, roses, tulips, and hundreds of other plants she didn't know blossomed out of every inch of the enclosed space. A tiny bench, made from the remnants of a hydrogen crate, sat in the center.

"The Director doesn't know everything," Florida said with a smile, guiding her into the little garden. She sat numbly as he motioned toward the bench, eyes wide. The voices quieted, if only slightly.

"How…?" she managed.

"A little love and a lot of determination," he said, brushing the pedals of one of the orchids tenderly. "Concepts you seem familiar with."

The voices quieted a little more. They were all a little curious, and a little cautious. What was Florida doing?

"I think the most important and most powerful force in this world is friendship," Florida continued. He took a small string from a cup and carefully tied the stem of a drooping flower to the lattice behind it. "I honestly do. And I think you feel the same way."

Oh, there were many powerful forces in the universe. Was friendship among them? Maybe. Probably. So was hatred. Friendship didn't start wars, after all.

"Did you lie?"

The question was so sudden, it took all six of Arizona a moment to comprehend it. Lie? Oh. The compound. The files.

The trap.

"I…" A glint along Florida's arm caught her eye. He had at least three throwing knives attached to each arm. Probably more where she couldn't see them. If he didn't want her to leave this little garden, she wouldn't.

 _We need to figure out what he wants to hear!_ Discontent snapped sharply.

 _He wants the truth,_ Passion replied. Passion. She seemed so tired.

"No," Arizona said. And it was the truth. She never lied to them. Never _would_ lie to them. They were her team.

Florida nodded. He moved closer to her, his slight figure still managing to cast an imposing shadow. "And the file. Did you miss it?"

That one was more difficult. "You were in the room when the Counselor–"

"I was," Florida interjected. "So I know what the Counselor saw, and what the Director saw." He crouched in front of her, meeting her eyes despite her best attempts to look anywhere else. "What did you see?"

He held her gaze as she stared, trying to come up with an answer. "I never saw the file while we were in the compound," she finally said. Well, whispered. Florida was the most intimidating softie she had ever met.

He jumped up with a smile. "Thought so," he said. His change in demeanor caught her only slightly off guard. She was getting used to the steamroller of cheerfulness. Florida clapped her on the shoulder. "Glad you told me the truth. Bones actually make a fantastic lattice framework for several species of vines." He gave her shoulder another squeeze as he made his way toward the door. "Stay as long as you like. Passcode is 'Regginator.' Come by wherever you need to. Just keep it between teammates, okay?"

Arizona found her voice just as Florida was getting ready to close the door. "Uh…Regginator?"

Florida grinned. "The price dear Wyoming set for helping me acquire some of these specimens," he said cheerfully.

"Oh. Yeah. Sounds like him."

"Very much so. He's a good man."

"Yeah." She paused. "Hey, Florida?"

"Yes, my dear?"

She looked down. The voices – her voice – was quiet. "Thank you."

Florida gave a motion like he was tipping a hat. "Anytime. Just promise that you will remember who your friends are."

And without another word, he left, leaving Arizona to wonder how the hell _Florida_ had just put her mind back together.


	13. Apology

"How the hell did _Florida_ prevent the fragmentation?"

"I am…not entirely certain, sir," Aiden said cautiously. The Director was in a dangerous mood. Again. If they were unable to progress Project Alpha, Aiden thought the Director may start taking his frustrations out on the other agents. Right now, it looked as though Florida was his next potential target. "But the situation showed promise."

"I don't want promises, Counselor, I want results!" The Director slammed his fist down. Aiden kept his expression pleasant.

"I believe fragmentation did occur," he said, his voice soothing. "The process was simply reversed by Agent Florida's well-intentioned but poorly timed intervention." Agent Arizona had been curled up on the floor outside of medical bay, shrieking for the voices to be quiet. Though she did not have her helmet on at the time, which would have provided her biometric readings, the output from her neural implants – which Aiden had been monitoring almost constantly – suggested that full fragmentation was sustained for several minutes.

"I cannot afford the process to be reversed every time another agent wants to play counselor," the Director growled.

Aiden nodded. "I understand, sir. I believe I have identified one more possible solution."

"This had better be the one, Counselor. I will not–" He paused as Aiden held out the datapad. "That might work," he muttered, more to himself than to the man before him. He nodded. "Make it so."

"Very well, sir," Aiden replied softly as the Director left, his rolling gait stiffer and more agitated than usual. He did not ask Aiden if Agent Maine would survive.

Aiden chose to ignore that fact.

* * *

Arizona expected Maine to wake up, but she didn't really expect him to call her when he did so. She was so surprised to hear his gruff voice in her radio set, in fact, that she nearly had to go to medical for herself anyway. Because his voice had distracted her. And York landed a really powerful punch.

"Maine!" she gasped.

"Actually, I'm York," the cocky locksmith replied casually. "Although if you are using 'Maine' as a new curse word, I understand." He extended a hand to help her up.

"No, it's Maine!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her relief and excitement. "He's awake!"

 _"_ _Don't need to tell the whole ship,"_ he muttered over the radio. Arizona laughed.

"It's good to hear your voice again." He grunted, which was probably some long analysis on her reaction that Wash could have translated for her.

Except Wash still wasn't talking to her.

_"_ _You coming?"_

"Yes!" She probably sounded like a five-year-old at her own birthday party, but she was so relieved Maine was okay and alive and talking to her that she didn't give a shit. She moved out of the sparring rink, ducking under York's arm as she did so.

"So…does this mean I win?" he called after her. She ignored him, as per her standard York-interaction protocol.

She more or less sprinted to medical, nearly decapitating a couple of awestruck grunts watching Georgia showing off his 'moves.' She gave a hurried 'sorry' before whirling around the corner, up the stairs, down the hall, through the door –

And straight into Wash.

He gave a small 'oof' as he was knocked to the ground. "Shit," Arizona muttered. She extended a hand awkwardly. "Uh, sorry."

He looked up at her, hand resting on the back of his neck. For a split second, she wondered if she had hurt him before remembering that hand near the back of his head was a sign Wash wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. He accepted her hand after a moment, and she pulled him to his feet. "Hey," he finally said. Pure eloquence.

Arizona nodded, her brain sizzling out in the 'words' department. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Seriously?"

Arizona leaned to the side at the sound of the gruff voice, glad she was wearing her helmet. Her current grin likely indicated the level of neural trauma typically reserved for highly guarded mental patients. "Hey, Maine."

"Sit." He said it like an order, and even with the bandages and the IV's (the injection points were all covered by blankets, she noticed), his demeanor was plenty intimidating. When Maine decided to give an order, people fucking listened. So she pulled up a spare chair and sat. Maine looked at Wash. "You too."

Wash was a little slower to follow. When he sat, Maine gave him a pointed look. Wash sighed and stared down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Arizona blinked. She wasn't sure who the apology was directed toward. "Uh…well…" What was she supposed to say? "I wasn't watching where I was going."

Wash looked up at her, his helmet tilting back in confusion. "What? Oh, that. No, I meant…" He looked at Maine for help. _Maine helping with words. Well, we should only be stuck here for a few more hours._ "I showed him the data chip."

It was almost a scientific miracle, how quickly Arizona's elation flooded out of her and was replaced with dread. She stared between the two of them in horror, remembering Wash's voice, seeing his eyes when he learned it was _her_ fault, waiting to see the same pain, the same betrayal in Maine's expression.

Except Maine wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Wash. Expectant.

"So…here's the thing," Wash told his knee guards. "Maine is…a lot smarter than I am." Maine nodded, both in encouragement and agreement. "And, um…well, he realized right away that it was just a mistake."

Arizona blinked. _Just a mistake?_ "But…" she spluttered, "you were shot. Ten times."

Maine shrugged. "Not a record," he growled.

"But–"

Maine held up a hand to silence her. "Not. Your. Fault."

She looked to Wash for help. Betrayal and blame had been bad enough, but this? This…forgiveness? It was almost worse. She didn't deserve this.

"He's right," Wash said. And he sounded so tired. Far too tired for someone his age. "Maine thinks it was an error when the data was copied over. Says it was probably in the encrypted file, so you couldn't have been able to access it in time anyway. But even if," he continued, his voice rising as he correctly interpreted Arizona's body language as the edge of a protest, "it was open, he – we – don't blame you."

Arizona was silent. Stunned. But she _deserved_ the blame. It's not that she wanted it. She wasn't some self-sacrificial hero. Never had been, and even if she had some gallant or idealistic tendencies, her fragmentation made it incredibly difficult to act in pure selflessness. But it was, objectively, her fault. "But–"

Maine cut her off with a glower. "Listen. You are human," he told her. "So you make mistakes. It's. Okay."

 _Human._ Was she still human? When she was so close to really losing it, like she had been just days before? When the only reason she wasn't a drooling mess was because Florida happened to be close and was kind enough to forgive her? She sighed. "Can I at least say I'm sorry?"

"We heard you. Well, I heard you," Wash said suddenly. Arizona blinked, and Wash took her silence as a need for an explanation. "When Maine came in and you…um…left."

Oh. He heard the screaming. Great. Even worse, Wash didn't say anything else. He just sat there, watching her. She examined the guard caps on her fingertips with much greater interest than the little green bulbs deserved. _Whelp. This is awkward._

"The point is, we know you're sorry," Wash finally said. His voice was still heavy.

"Well…" And yeah, sure, in some convoluted way, her screams had been because she was sorry. Because she felt guilty. And with Maine barely recovered, and Wash still acting a little off, there was no reason to bring up the aspects. It was fine. Florida ( _fucking Florida)_ had fixed it. "Still. I want to apologize."

Maine rolled his eyes, but even Arizona was able to read the huffed 'fine' in his body language. She looked at Wash.

He shrugged, though it looked like there was some effort involved in the forced nonchalance. "Apology accepted," he muttered. He sighed and rested his hand on the back of his helmet. "Really. If it had been me lying here, I would have forgiven you right away. But, it's Maine, so…ow. Hey, stop it, you aren't supposed to be exerting yourself."

Maine grinned as he settled his arm back down. Arizona wondered who had arranged the blankets. Whoever it was did so with enough talent that the injection points stayed covered while Maine cuffed Wash. "Good?" he growled.

Arizona bit her lip, looking at Wash. Wash returned the gaze for a little longer than she hoped. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, we're good."

Arizona smiled. "Thank you," she said softly. She looked at Maine, who was sitting with a slightly too smug expression on his face. Better fix that. "Thank you," she said again as she stood up and hugged him, careful not to jostle any of the tubing or bandages.

When she leaned back, Wash was shaking in his armor with barely contained laughter, and Maine was looking at her with a combination of shock and a promise to kill her once he was cleared to fight. Maybe a little before that, even.

It was totally worth it, though.


	14. Fragmentation

"Agent Arizona, please report to the training floor," F.I.L.S.S. chimed over the PA. Arizona exchanged a glance with Wash.

"I didn't see you on the schedule today," Wash said distractedly. He was watching Maine intently. The injured Freelancer had made a poorly advised and even more poorly executed attempt at escape while Arizona and Wash were in the mess hall earlier. Apparently he had decided that a full week was more than enough time to recover from internal shredding via turret. The doctor in the next bed over was the one who had finally managed to sedate him. Wash promised the medical staff that he would handle Maine after that.

"I'm not," Arizona hummed in reply, scrolling down to the calendar in her HUD. _I'm not, right?_ She would be lying if she said she hadn't been a little preoccupied herself. _If I had been a little better in recon…_

But it was in the past. They were good. Maine would survive. "Hey," she said, leaning forward and waving a hand in front of Wash's face. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Wash responded in his usual, entirely unconvincing tone. "I uh…I think I'm gonna stay here. In case he wakes up." They both looked down at Maine. He looked almost…peaceful. On him, it somehow managed to look frightening. Maine shouldn't look peaceful. She turned away. "Hey, Zo?"

"Yeah?"

Wash shifted, still looking at Maine. "Don't go to your session today." He swallowed. "With Price. Please. Just…just come back here when you're done."

"Don't go getting all emotional on me, Wash."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, I just want to make sure you're alright. You always seem so messed up afterward."

"Seriously, Wash," Discontent said. _No, Arizona. My name is Arizona._ "I don't do well with touching moments." _I do fine. Passion is the one with the problem. NO! We are the same person!_

He was right. The few sessions she had had with the Counselor over the past week had been brutal. She had been spending a lot of time in Florida's garden – _okay, that sounds a little weird –_ hiding. Mostly from herself. She may not have fragmented completely the day Maine returned to the MoI, but the wounds were fresh and reopened easily.

Wash shrugged, and Arizona left before he could change her mind.

 _We should talk to him,_ Happiness said. _He helps._

 _We can do this on our own._ Aggression.

 _I don't think we can!_ Fear cried.

 _Regardless of our ability to coalesce, we do not have the opportunity to stay,_ Logic reminded them. _Perhaps after our training session._

 _I don't like this,_ Discontent said slowly. She was trying to nudge Fear into looking out for danger, but Fear had been all alarms and no help since Maine was injured. Discontent finally gave up on trying to calm Fear down. _Passion? You've been quite._

Passion didn't respond immediately. _I have._

_What's going on with you? Usually you are all 'I'm going to rip someone's fucking arms off!'_

_That's me, dumbass,_ Aggression growled, offended that someone else might get credit for her penchant for appendage severing.

 _Shut up, I'm not talking to you._ Discontent paused. _Passion?_

_Yes._

_You good?_

Passion was quiet for a moment. _Someone is going to die,_ she said simply.

That set Fear off even more, and the other aspects had to shout to be heard over her. _Passion, please contain yourself until we have a chance to further assess the situation,_ Logic implored.

 _What the hell do you mean, 'someone is going to die?' Passion! Answer me!_ Discontent demanded.

 _I'm all up for a fight,_ Aggression conceded, _but I want to know who we are fighting._

_PASSION DON'T DO IT!_

But Passion didn't respond. Nor did she try to push toward the surface or crack through the restraints Logic and Discontent were already trying to wrap around her.

"Agent Arizona."

Arizona had to keep herself from starting. That was unusual. The aspects were getting so split up and focused on one another that no one had been paying attention to where she was going. She blinked as she saluted the Director. _We need to start working together again,_ Discontent called. _This kind of thing can't keep happening._

 _Let's focus on calming down Fear, first,_ Happiness suggested.

"Agent Arizona," the Director addressed her again. He started walking down the hallway, and Arizona followed. "We have been given the…opportunity to test some new equipment in partnership with the Spartan program," he started explaining. "But as the equipment was originally designed for someone with the physiological and neurological enhancements of a Spartan…"

"You want me to test it first," she finished. She blinked. _Discontent!_

_What? It's true. He wants to see if we really are Spartans._

The Director paused to look at her, but didn't reprimand her for the interruption. "You are one of the agents with the necessary experience to be able to test the equipment. _One_ of the agents, Arizona."

She nodded. "Understood, sir," Logic responded as Discontent rolled her eyes.

"Some of this equipment is designed to be utilized with the assistance of an AI," the Director continued. "As such, the Spartan program has sent one of their technicians to allow us to utilize their AI until such time as we can determine if we will adopt the equipment into our program." He paused. "Your… _unique_ knowledge of AIs makes you the ideal candidate."

Arizona nodded again. With Logic in control, she was able to distance herself from the emotional turmoil caused by his allusion to her psychological state. "Understood, sir." They stopped in front of the training room doors.

"Very well," he replied. "I have selected a number of candidates to receive the Spartan equipment, depending on the results of your test. We will be watching. Good luck, Agent Arizona."

"Thank you, sir," she replied automatically, before Discontent had time to analyze what exactly was wrong with the way the Director was speaking to her. She stepped through the doors. A technician was standing near one of the raised tables on the training room floor, watching the readouts from a pulsating armor enhancement. Arizona stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"Ah, Agent Arizona!" the man said happily, but he kept his attention on the equipment before him. His voice sounded…familiar…

_Come on, six-two, we have to go!_

_Crashing. Screaming. Blood. So much blood._

_Leo, calm the fuck down. What's going on?_

_He's going to kill me!_

The tech, seemingly satisfied with his work, turned toward her. The smile disappeared from his lips instantaneously, replaced with an uncertain expression. "Six-two?" he asked hesitantly.

_So many dead. She had to get Leo out of there. Leo wasn't dangerous, he was a friend. She just needed to find him some help, needed to find someone who could fix him._

_Dr. Halsey. She might be able to._

_But Murdock refused. Said Leo had to go. 'Deactivation,' they called it. 'Standard Protocol.'_

_It wasn't deactivation, it was murder!_

_Murdock couldn't get Leo out of her head. He was too integrated. So he did the next best thing. He used_ her _implants to delete the AI._

_LEO!_

Echo-62 slowly put her helmet on. "Hello, Dr. Murdock."

Passion took control, breaking through the restraints and pushing the aspects apart. _I told you someone was going to die._

* * *

Wash stood over Maine, holding a sedation gun and trying to look a lot bigger and more determined than he felt. "I'm serious, man. I will do it."

Maine raised an eyebrow. _Will not._

"Will so!"

 _Bullshit._ Maine made another move to stand, and Wash rushed around to the side of his bed, holding the gun like a pistol. Probably not exactly standard medical practice, but whatever. If the fucking medics were going to put him in charge of sedating an angry Maine, then Wash was going to use the gun as a _weapon,_ dammit.

To Wash's surprise, however, Maine froze. Wash blinked. "I mean, I know I teased you about the needle thing," he said cautiously, "but–"

Maine held up a hand to silence him, frowning. He cocked his head slightly to the side and looked at Wash.

Wash listened like Maine asked him to. "I don't hear…oh, wait. Yeah, I hear that. That's weird. Is that…screaming?" Maine nodded. "Huh. Maybe one of the training matches got fucked up."

The screaming got suddenly louder, as though a barrier had been lifted between them and the source. They could hear more voices now, as well, shouting garbled instructions and speaking over one another. The noises were getting close. Maine and Wash exchanged a glance. "Yeah. Someone got fucked up," Wash muttered.

The doors to medical opened and a rush of people burst through. Three medics were pointing and guiding the armor-clad figures between them. Wash frowned. Blue, teal, gold. Carolina and York had their helmets off, and York looked extremely worried. Carolina was focusing on the surgery room like it was the objective of a mission. They were both half guiding, half carrying a figure between them…Florida?

But no, Florida was too far behind them. One of the medics ran forward as the screaming started again. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Wash froze. _Zo!_ York stumbled a little as the figure he was supporting suddenly lashed out, revealing bright green, blood-spattered armor. She thrashed again, and York lost his grip. Carolina stepped back to avoid Arizona's fist, although it didn't seem to be aimed at anyone in particular. She shrieked, a loud, piercing, painful noise. "Stop!" she cried. "Stop, stop, shut up, please shut them up!"

"Agent Carolina, get her into surgery," a far too familiar voice barked. Wash saw the Director standing just far enough away to be clear of Arizona's uncontrolled movements.

"We're trying, sir," Carolina responded as she attempted to grip one of Arizona's arms. Zo collapsed, holding her head and shrieking. Florida flipped around a thoroughly distressed York and knelt in front of her, prying her hands away before she could claw out her own eyes. Her hands were covered in blood, but unlike York, Florida was able to hold on. Wash's mind froze. Zo? This was Zo? The screaming, shrieking, crying soldier before him?

A large mass rushed past Wash and knocked the forgotten sedation gun out of his hands. Maine pushed York out of the way and grasped Zo's shoulder firmly. She tried to pull away from the contact, but even in her frenzied state, she seemed unable to.

Wash's brain woke up. "Zo!" he cried as he ran forward to try to help. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know why Arizona was screaming, didn't know where the hell all that blood and _–fucking hell, is that a piece of a heart? –_ okay, where all the body parts came from, but he knew he had to help. Whatever was going on, it was bad. Really bad.

"Agent Washington, stand down!" the Director ordered as Wash knocked one of the medics aside unceremoniously. Wash froze, torn between his desire to help and his obedience to the Director. "Agent Carolina."

"Getting there, sir," Carolina growled as she, Maine, and Florida managed to get Arizona on her feet again. Maine looked way too ashen to be helping, and he didn't have his strength-enhanced armor to assist him, but he held his part of Zo's weight nonetheless.

"We need to sedate her, sir," one of the medics said, approaching with a gun similar to the one Wash had been holding.

"No!" the Director barked.

"Sir, she is sustaining significant neurologic damage. If we don't–"

"I said no," he growled in response. "Prep the implant."

The medic cursed, but obeyed. "Someone get me an armor lock!"

Arizona cursed. "Pistol," she gasped. Her hand flew toward Florida, who expertly tossed his pistol toward Wash before Arizona could grab it. Wash caught it, horrorstruck, as Florida continued to speak to her in soothing tones. Wash saw him surreptitiously tuck his multitude of knives into the casing on his back, keeping them out of Arizona's reach.

A medic ran up and hooked something into Arizona's armor. She froze, locked into place, and continued to scream and cry out as the Director ordered the other Freelancers to carry her to the surgery room. Once they entered, he shooed everyone out and sealed the doors.

Wash rushed around to the viewing window as the gravity in the room was disabled and the medics floated Arizona toward the surgical table. He barely glanced to his right as the other Freelancers joined him.

"I thought you couldn't do surgery under armor lock," York muttered. His armor was bloody, as well as Florida's and Carolina's, but it looked like the blood had come from Arizona. It only appeared in streaks and handprints, rather than full splatters. No chucks of body, either.

"You can't," Carolina answered. She sounded worried.

Wash swallowed, staring as the medics positioned Arizona and prepared to hold her down. "What the hell happened?" he finally managed.

They glanced at him. "We…we don't know," Carolina finally answered. "She was supposed to be testing out some new equipment. Director said he wanted her to do it…something about the Spartan enhancements." She shrugged. "Kid went crazy when she entered the room. Killed the tech."

"Killed is an understatement," York muttered. "She ripped the guy apart. Never seen her act like that before. It's like she wasn't in control."

"God," Wash choked. They stared as two of the doctors lined up their equipment, ready to begin the surgery. An army of medics was laying on her, using their bodies along with straps to keep her from moving. One last medic was looking at the doctors, ready to remove the armor lock. "Why don't they just take the armor off?"

"Might be the only thing keeping her alive," Florida offered. "She took a few bullets." Maine growled. Florida glanced up at him. "Just a few, buddy," Florida reiterated. "Not a dozen, like yourself."

"Ten," Maine corrected, but he was more focused on Arizona. The medic removed the armor lock, and the entire team of medical staff bucked as Arizona tried to throw them off. Even through the nearly sound-proof glass, they could hear the occasional shriek. The doctors were doing something on the back of her neck. Wash couldn't see all the monitors in the room, but the ones he could see were flashing dozens of warnings. Severe neurological damage, sustained toxic levels of cortisone, oxygen deprivation, blood loss… _fuck._

"Hey, Carolina?" York asked cautiously. "What did the Director mean by 'implant?'"

"I don't know," she mumbled. Distracted. Wash never got the feeling that Carolina particularly cared for Arizona. But Arizona _was_ part of her team. And even if Carolina huffed and rolled her eyes and acted like she was babysitting a bunch of children, _no one_ fucked with her team.

York shifted. "Cause, it sort of seems like he was ready for this," he ventured, even more cautious. York being cautious, Carolina demonstrating concern, Florida watching a stressful situation without spouting encouragement _...Arizona isn't the only one who went crazy._

"I don't know, York," Carolina responded with finality, and York dropped the issue. They fell into silence, watching the doctors struggling to do something with her neural implants. _Maybe they are trying to replace them._ But a replacement required open brain surgery. Wash subconsciously ran his fingers of the faint scar on his own skull. Not fun.

One of the doctors leaned back to watch a hidden monitor for a moment, then looked at the Director and nodded. The Director said something, and one of the medics shot a sedative into Arizona's neck. The screaming mercifully subsided.

Wash just hoped it was the work of the sedative, and not the blood loss.


	15. AI: Asshole Integration

Arizona noticed three things when she woke up.

First was that she _hurt._ That was unusual, because one of her physiological relics of the Spartan program was hyper-regeneration. So while she usually hurt directly after a sparring match, her body took care of the injuries quickly, leaving her incredibly hungry but healthy within a day or so. But this pain in her stomach was not hunger, and the pain in her leg wasn't soreness. It was something different.

The second thing she noticed was that Logic wasn't analyzing. Logic should have been examining the sensations and matching them with any memories or other sensory information she could get her metaphorical hands on, but the aspect was noticeably silent. Discontent wasn't taking advantage of Logic's peace to rush to the forefront, either.

In fact, Arizona couldn't tell who was in control.

She racked her brain, trying to remember what happened. She was just going to test some equipment. Had something gone wrong?

No…she never tested it. She had gone to the training room…and then… _Murdock! Leo!_

She tried to sit up, but she didn't have the strength. Panic was beginning to rise. She automatically tried to chastise Fear, only to find that she couldn't locate the quivering aspect. _What the fuck?_

The third thing she noticed was that she wasn't alone.

_'_ _Oh, you're awake. Sup?'_

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Arizona pushed past the fatigue and forced herself into a sitting position, opening her eyes. "What the fuck?" she repeated, a little more angrily this time.

"Agent Arizona," a kind voice said. She groaned.

"No…not you," she muttered. _Wait, that's not something one of the aspects would say. I mean, maybe Aggression, but…_

"Sup, Counselor. Yeah, she's taking this about as well as you would expect. Maybe a little worse. You weren't kidding, either, this place is a fucking wreck."

Arizona looked around for the source of the voice, but couldn't find it. _Okay. But it's outside my head. It was just my imagination._

 _'_ _Nope, I'm in here, too,'_ the voice said. Arizona's breath caught. It's not that she wasn't used to hearing voices in her head. In fact, half her problem was that she _wasn't_ hearing voices. There should be six, and they should all be hers.

But instead there were two. One hers, and one…one she had never heard before. And it was male, so it couldn't have been a hidden aspect. _What the fuck is happening, who the fuck are you, and where the fuck are my aspects?_

 _'_ _Yikes, jeez, they told me you might be messed up but they didn't warn me you were gonna be such a bitch!'_ The voice said, sounding almost exasperated.

"Alpha, report."

_Great, the Director's here, too._

_'_ _Yeah, the guy is a total asshole,'_ the voice agreed. Wait, agreed? How did it know about Arizona's personal thoughts on the Director? She kept those strictly to herself.

"I think I'm all integrated. Would have been faster if you didn't knock her out."

"Given the circumstances–" the Counselor started.

"Yeah, yeah, she was dying and shit. I get it. Anyway, I think I've got Humpty Dumpty all put together again. It's taking, like, half my power though. Might be more when she learns to think on her own."

Arizona blinked, then scowled, looking around. "Alright, you little prick, where are you?" she muttered, mostly to herself.

She jumped as the Director chuckled. Huh…she owed York fifty bucks. She didn't think the man could laugh in any form. "Alpha," he said, "please display yourself."

"Fuck!" Arizona said by way of introduction as a white hologram popped up next to her. The projection was of an armored soldier, about eight inches tall. Its masked face was looking up at her. She stared for a moment before turning to the Director. "Is that…is that an AI? Sir?" she added belatedly.

The Director nodded. "This is Alpha. Alpha, why don't you introduce yourself? _Properly."_

The little hologram tilted its head slightly. "Sup." He paused. "Bitch."

Arizona stared. "You implanted another AI?" she asked, voice shaking a little.

"Hey, you should be happy I'm here!" the little AI snapped defensively. "I mean, seriously. Some fuckin' welcome party. Didn't your mama ever teach you to clean up before you have guests over? This brain looks like shit! Least you could have, like, fucking dusted or something…"

But Arizona didn't pay attention to her new 'companion' as he rambled about the sorry state of his new living quarters. She was focused intently on her thought processes. Her aspects seemed to have disappeared, leaving their emotions but not the barriers behind. That was extremely strange, almost disconcerting. She shouldn't have been fixable. Not without…

"Yeah, okay, now that she's actually thinking, I'm up to 70%," Alpha said, turning his projection toward the Director and the Counselor. "And…HEY! Watch where you're poking, missy!"

Arizona raised an eyebrow, but obediently pulled her mind away from one of their shared attachment points. She was familiar with the feeling of sharing a head with another being; despite it being an impromptu implantation, she and Leo had gotten along well, had learned to share a mind and body. Probably would have worked even better if he hadn't been rampant.

This AI had never been implanted, though, she could tell. He was jumpy, skittish when her thoughts strayed too close to his. _Her thoughts…_ where were…

Oh.

Oh, god.

"Um, sirs," she said hesitantly, looking at the projection – _how does he manage to look so offended without a face? –_ "would you mind giving Alpha and I a moment? I think he's struggling a little now that I'm awake."

Alpha managed to look even _more_ offended, scoffing and crossing his arms. "Don't pin this on me, bitch!"

Arizona raised an eyebrow, but looked up at the Director, expression confident and slightly amused. Covering Alpha's racing thoughts, his AI equivalent of an elevated heartrate, his nervousness. She was beginning to understand what happened, largely from Alpha's understanding. But he wasn't terribly happy about her poking around in his memories. Funny, he must have been quite young, because he still was having some trouble making the connection work both ways.

The Director didn't look pleased, but eventually nodded. "Five minutes," he said. He gave Alpha's projection a pointed look. "Five _standard_ minutes."

The little projection tilted his helmet as the Director and Counselor left, then rounded on Arizona. "Okay, let's lay some fucking ground rules!"

"First implantation?" she asked, voice amused. Simple amusement. Not the giddy amusement of Happiness that left her on the edge of a laughing fit, nor the cold, calculating amusement of Discontent, nor the satisfying amusement of Aggression at the flailing of a weaker enemy. Just simple amusement. "How old are you, anyway?"

Alpha was flustered. She didn't need the projection to tell her – he telegraphed his emotions like a fucking open channel broadcast. And they _were_ emotions. Arizona had spent too much time with Leo to believe any of the doctors or scientists that tried to tell her it was just programming. Leo had been a person, even if he was built with numbers instead of strings of carbon.

And so was Alpha. "Four months, two weeks, one day, seventeen hours, six minutes, and twenty-nine seconds," he answered with more than a hint of pride. "Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two."

"You been a dick since birth?" she asked, pulling away from their attachment points a bit. Trying to make him feel comfortable. Probably good not to antagonize the person she was sharing a head with.

"Hey!" he said defensively. "I am the smartest motherfucker you will ever…" He paused as she smirked and sent him a quick tutorial on just how overwhelmingly _intelligent_ Leo had been. Again, had he not been rampant… "Okay, well, I'm the _other_ smartest guy you will ever have the overwhelming pleasure of meeting."

She smiled. "So you put Humpty Dumpty together again, huh? Thought that was impossible. Even for all the king's horses and all the king's men."

Alpha snorted, and she felt a flare of both pride and amusement across their channels. "Let me tell you, it was a serious project. Had to keep you under for three days, and in my time that's for _ever._ "

Arizona started a little at that. "Three days?" she muttered, leaning back in appreciation. "Damn."

"You said that right."

She tilted her head a little to the side. "How did you do it? I feel…normal. Like I did before…" Rather than put it into words, she sent Alpha the summary of Leo, the images and memories and emotions…

Okay, maybe she should have taken it a little easy on the emotions.

"Hey!" Alpha cried, and she registered panic that was not her own. "Stop that!"

"Sorry," she said quickly. "Sorry. I guess I'm just used to sharing a mind, you know?" She paused until she felt like Alpha had properly calmed down. "So…how did you do it?"

"Doing it," the little AI corrected. "You got some pretty intense wiring in here. I'm…bridging the gaps, I guess. Letting everyone understand everyone else. Not just talk, but understand." He spoke slowly, as though he was having difficulty finding the actual words.

Arizona studied him, both his projection and his presence in her mind. "You okay?"

Alpha scoffed again and crossed his arms. "Of course I'm okay." He said the last word with distain. She smiled.

"So, you know that it's really hard to lie to me," she told him lightly. "I mean, I'm not trying to dive into your personal thoughts or anything, but you're not exactly being subtle."

His projection actually turned a little pink. _They aren't human my ass._ So far, the two AIs she had had in her head were more expressive and personified than any actual human she had ever met. Although, to be fair, she was in the Spartan program from the time she was in her teens. She had a pretty shitty circle of friends. "You'll get used to it," she assured him.

He gave a _pshh_ sound, but she could feel a little bit of hope and relief light up in their mind. Because it was _their_ mind; she had no problem admitting or understanding that. Privacy was now a matter of mutual respect, not of choice. Especially not of choice. Arizona was having to work exceptionally hard to not see everything Alpha had to offer. He had clearly only lived in a computer before this.

"Anyway," he said, pushing his projection back to white. "Ground rules. First, understand that I am awesome."

She snorted. "That's a rule, huh?"

"That's the _number one_ rule," he emphasized. "I'm the only one keeping you from being a total nutjob. Feel free to worship me at your leisure."

"Got it," she replied, still amused. "Number two?"

"Stop trying to fucking interrogate me!"

That one took her a moment. "Um…interrogate you? You mean share a brain?"

"Yes!"

She looked at him for another moment. She _could_ send her complete understanding of the process his way, but she had a feeling that would just make things worse. "Okay," she said slowly, "you do understand what's happening, right? Alpha…we share a mind. I mean, it works both ways. You can see what I'm thinking as well." She paused. "Actually, shouldn't you be able to see everything I'm thinking right now? Aren't you the one, like, directing all the pathways?"

He gave an annoyed shrug. "Yeah, but that's just neural impulses. Directing them and reading them are two entirely different things. The first is hard enough."

 _Hard enough? But he's a Smart AI. He should be…oh._ "You're tired."

Yup, that one offended him. " _I_ ," he jeered, "am not _tired._ You are just a serious whacko."

"It's okay," she said again, not refraining this time from sending her reassurances across the channels. "This is all entirely new for you. I get it. And I will admit," she said with a small smile, "I am probably not the easiest person to be implanted in."

"You got that right," he grumbled.

"But we're a team now," she continued, ignoring him. Well, choosing not to respond either verbally or neurologically. It's not like she could entirely block out something that was literally sitting on her mental pathways. "And I appreciate what you are doing. I really do." And she _did._ She felt like herself, like the single person she had been before Leo. It was amazing. "So you let me know what you need, okay?"

He rolled his eyes – she could tell from his thoughts, even if his projection didn't have a face – but gave a small shrug of agreement. "Five minutes are almost up," he told her.

"Yeah, I know. You good?"

"Good? I'm great! I'm awesome! I am the best! No need to worry about me." Alpha spoke a little too fast.

"Right," she muttered as the door opened. _You're a little asshole, actually. But I think I can live with that._

_'_ _You're kind of a bitch yourself.'_

She grinned in spite of herself as the Director and Counselor entered the room. _Alpha,_ she said, _you are I are gonna make of hell of a team._ She paused. _Oh, yeah, why do my leg and stomach hurt?_

_'_ _Oh, yeah. Um, bullets.'_

_…_ _Bullets._

_'_ _Yes.'_

She sighed inwardly. _Well, Alpha. Welcome to Project Freelancer._


	16. Goodbye Leo, Hello Leonard

Alpha was itching to leave, she could tell. Not that she wasn't as well; being cooped up in medical wasn't exactly a fucking party. But she was also aware of how quick those doctors were with their sedation guns on runaway Freelancers. Probably Maine's fault. Or Carolina's. Or both.

 _Sedation isn't fun,_ she tried to tell him.

_'_ _For you. Gives me a nice break.'_

_I thought you weren't tired._

_'_ _I'm not! You're just shitty company.'_

She snorted. The Director had seemed surprised at how well the integration was going. So much so that Arizona realized, probably a little too late, that she should lie and make up some symptoms. Symptoms that unfortunately had her stuck in medical. She didn't know exactly what it was, but she didn't trust the Director. The man had too much power.

_'_ _How do you figure?'_

She paused, wondering if she should tell him. Alpha was getting better, but he still didn't like when she so blatantly shared her memories. It was a real pain, because she finally had the opportunity to give someone the ultimate shortcut version of her stories, and the little asshole wasn't taking them. _You gonna flip out again if I just show you?_

 _'_ _No.'_ Pause. _'And I didn't 'flip out' the first time. You just…startled me.'_

 _Yeah. Okay._ He had totally flipped out. It wasn't even an intense memory, just a rundown on what happened when she arrived at the Project. But, to his credit, Alpha _was_ getting better. He had even shared a few of his memories with her. Nothing of any importance. She knew he was really only doing it to practice with the connection. But she had still gotten a kick out of watching the little tidbits he had learned spying on the other Freelancers. _Never would have guessed South liked romance novels._

_'_ _Pretty sure she reads them before every mission.'_

_Certainly explains her melodrama._

Alpha laughed, and she smiled, glad the little AI was starting to feel at home. _She_ certainly was. It was nice to have some noncrazy company. Even if that company was completely full of himself.

_'_ _What were you saying about the Director? I mean, I know the guy is kind of a dick.'_

_He…got me into the Project,_ she said hesitantly.

_'_ _So?'_

_Well, I was scheduled for execution._

She could feel Alpha's shock reverberating through her whole mind. _'You were WHAT?'_

She shrugged, both mentally and physically. _I killed a lot of people. Lot of civilians. Well, sort of. Most of them were contractors._

Alpha was actually silent for a moment. Well, sort of silent. He was gathering his thoughts, but Arizona didn't intrude on the process. _'Show me.'_

She paused. _You sure?_

_'_ _Yes.'_

_It's not pretty._

_'_ _Well, I'm not really getting any sense of guilt from you. So yeah, would kinda like to know if my host is a psychotic murderer.'_

_Okay. Remember, you asked._ She paused for one more moment, giving Alpha a chance to change his mind. He did not. So she showed him.

_"_ _He's going to kill me!" Leo shrieked, grasping at her physical controls before she swatted him away._

_"_ _I'm not going to let that happen," she growled, propping the rifle in the crook of her arm as she backed away. "Leo, listen. We're getting you out of here, okay? You have to stay with me."_

_"_ _They want to delete me, they don't think I'm human, it's going to hurt, you have to save us, we have to run!"_

_And they did. People were shooting at her. Not that it would damage Leo, but it would let them get to the implants. They had destroyed all of his other holds. She was the last one._

_So she returned fire and ran. Didn't care that she was firing on doctors and scientists. Couldn't care, because Leo had too much control over her brain, and his panic and instinct for survival were overwhelming any moral compass she may or may not have possessed._

_They almost made it, too. Almost made it off the station. She had stolen a ship and everything, was letting Leo look through the controls without leaving his safe haven in her head. Her armor was riddled with bullet holes, and she was sure at least a few must have made it through to her skin, but they were so integrated she couldn't feel them. She and Leo were one mind, one body. And neither of them had_ time _for injury. They had to get out of there. Once they were safe, Leo would take care of her, and she would take care of Leo._

_Like they always did._

_But she and Leo never got the chance. Because she wasn't the only Spartan on board. There was one more, one they hadn't told her about. It was someone from Kilo – Naomi, she was fairly sure – who got the shot off. High caliber bullet, punched straight through her armor. Straight through her lung._

_Leo took over her body, but even he couldn't fight basic physiology. So she collapsed. She collapsed, and_ he _came. Murdock. And he tried to remove the implant, but she and Leo had fused it, in an effort to try to save him._

_The doctor and the other Spartan dragged her semiconscious, bleeding body to a lab. Not even a fucking medical bay, but a computer lab. And hooked the wires to her implants._

_She fought, but the other Spartan kept her pinned, kept her from stopping Murdock as the man_ fried _Leo, tore him apart. The screaming, the pain, the unbearable –_

"Stop!"

Arizona pulled her mind back and looked down. Alpha was projecting himself now, and he looked physically ill. "You okay?"

"Jesus fuck!" he cried, shaking. "No, I'm not okay! Fucking Christ…" He looked like he was going to throw up. Technically, he couldn't, but she wouldn't be surprised if he added vomit to his projection pretty soon.

"Alpha…" she wasn't sure what to say. Other than throwing up hasty walls to protect him, what else could she do?

"What the hell made you think it was a good idea to show me how he died?"

Arizona gulped, glancing around, but they were still in the private room of medical. The Director didn't want anyone to see Alpha. "You asked," she said weakly. _Yeah, that's a pretty lame excuse._

"You could have given me a little warning!"

He was right. He was too new to this. AIs were supposed to take care of their hosts, but that connection worked both ways. She was too used to sharing everything. She fucked up. "I'm sorry," she croaked, trying to convey her remorse across their connection without freaking him out even more.

Alpha straightened and gave his helmet a little shake. "No wonder you're fucking broken," he muttered, pixelated hands touching the sides of his helmet.

She gave a weak smile in return. "Yeah. Pretty broken." She paused. "Less so, now. I mean, you are pretty awesome."

"I'm more than pretty awesome," he returned automatically, still distracted. He was upset over seeing the death of another AI. Well, more than seeing. As close to experiencing as he could probably get.

"So…yeah. Scheduled for execution." She said it casually, as if she didn't particularly care.

To be honest, she wasn't sure if she _had_ cared.

"I…" Alpha's voice cracked. "Can see why."

"But the Director got me out. Somehow. And that had to have taken more than just authority. That takes power, knowing the right people, how to get around the rules. How to get around the _law._ I mean, you know, UNSC doesn't exactly like to give up their weapons. Decommissioning a Spartan takes a lot of really scared people."

Alpha's head drew back, surprised and offended. "Um, 'decommissioning?' You mean killing?"

She shrugged.

"Hey," she said quickly as she heard someone keying in a code on the other side of the door. "Stop projecting."

He complied immediately, though he could still sense him turning over the memory carefully. Curious, but cautious. Trying to determine if she was a murdering psychopath or not. She let him. Pushing the issue wouldn't help. He had access to her full mind. _Give him a little time to adjust._

Besides, she was just as interested in his conclusion and he was.

The Counselor stepped in, datapad in hand, with the neurologist close behind. "Agent Arizona," he said. Amazing how such a soothing voice could become so grating. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she replied automatically, before remembering that she was supposed to be having migraines and memory flashes. Those were supposed to be standard for initial integrations. "Well, I mean, my head still kind of hurts," she amended. Hopefully not too quickly.

"And your aspects?"

"Still gone," she told him. No point in trying to hide that one. "Or, integrated. Fixed. However you want to put it." She paused. "Sir."

The Counselor nodded. "The Director would like to move you back onto the active roster. You and Alpha are to report to the training room at fourteen thirty for a series of tests."

 _Heh. Doctor doesn't look too happy,_ she thought, trying to redirect Alpha's attention to the outside world without being too blunt.

It worked. _'No shit he doesn't look happy. Neither am I! You still have three fucking bullet wounds!'_

_Eh, they don't hurt. Much. We'll live._

Alpha conveyed a mental roll of his eyes. ' _Man, I got stuck with the worst Freelancer.'_

 _Probably._ Oh, the cheerful sarcasm felt good. Discontent was sarcastic, but it was always scathing. No way she could let Alpha know just how much he was helping, though. If the little prick's ego expanded any more, it would blow the seals off the airlocks.

"You got it, sir," she replied, giving a small smile.

And so she was finally allowed to put on her armor and leave medical, under another strict reminder from the Counselor that Alpha was _not_ to make his presence known, nor was she to speak to the other agents about her new AI. She was simply to state that the surgery fixed her neural implants to allow her aspects to better connect with one another. Which wasn't technically a lie, she supposed.

Alpha grumbled about the secrecy, but complied, and was quickly distracted as she put on her armor. ' _Oooohhh…this looks fun.'_

 _Alright, kiddo, poke around all you want, but don't change anything,_ she told him with a chuckle. _I got the settings just how I like them._

He bristled a little at the 'kiddo' comment, but didn't say anything else as he ran through the electronics in her armor, immediately ignoring her orders and changing the displays in the HUD. _'Just learning my new home, I'll change them back!'_ he told her as she stumbled a little, not expecting the change in her field of vision.

 _Dick,_ she told him fondly. She left the room to head toward the mess hall. Knowing the Director, whatever 'tests' she was about to endure would require her to be at full strength.

She didn't really notice the medics shying away from her, but when she entered the hallways and a group of soldiers stopped in their tracks, she realized something was wrong. They were looking at her like she was about to go on a freaking rampage. _Um…Alpha?_

_'_ _Huh, yeah? What?'_

_Any idea what's going on with those guys?_

_'_ _Oh, they probably think you're going to rip their hearts out,'_ he responded casually as he practiced with the target locators on her HUD by drawing a giant dick.

 _Sorry?_ Rip their hearts out? That didn't seem like her. Well. Much.

Alpha pulled his attention away from his detailed dick drawing with the air of a genius being distracted from unravelling the secrets of the universe. _'That's what you did to the last guy to piss you off.'_

Arizona blinked, and not just because Alpha was adding far too detailed hairs to his masterpiece. _I did what?_

 _'_ _You…oh.'_ He was actually using their connection, sifting through her memories. She could pull them away at any time – his control was weak at best – but he seemed to be looking for something specific. _'It's blocked. Here, let me see if I can…just…here?'_ She could feel him tugging at various connections, until –

"Shit," Arizona gasped, and the soldiers down the hallway turned tail and fucking _ran._ Alpha was filtering the memory, allowing her to view it without experiencing the associated emotions, but she couldn't help but feel some residual revulsion. Murdock had been on the ship. Murdock had been locked in a training room with her, without any type of protection. Murdock, who thought she had been shredded by a firing squad months ago.

And yes, at some point, Arizona had ripped his heart out. Not until after she had caused him some pretty significant, nonlethal damage, though. Who…oh.

_Passion got out._

_'_ _Yeah.'_

She was silent for a moment, letting the gravity of the situation wash over her. The fact that she had killed Dr. Murdock in such a spectacularly brutal fashion didn't bother her nearly as much as she knew it should. But she _was_ bothered by how the other Freelancers must view her.

 _Wash._ Oh, god. The poor kid. _Any ideas for explaining my way out of this one?_

_'_ _I got nothing. You're pretty well fucked.'_

_Thanks._

Alpha was silent for a moment. ' _Maybe we should go do this training thing first. Before you talk to anyone. You said they were your friends, right?'_

 _Dude, seriously, you have_ got _to start using these connections. It is such a fucking pain to explain everything._

 _'_ _It's a big scary place in here, okay? Point is, they'll get it.'_ He didn't sound even remotely confident.

_Yeah, I don't think that's the best…Alpha._

_'_ _What?'_

She was looking straight ahead, focusing her vision around Alpha's dick drawing. _I need you to access my memories of Florida, okay? Here, I'll try to push them all to the surface._

Alpha was silent for just a little too long. _'I don't want to.'_

_What the hell do you mean, you don't want to?_

_'_ _I mean I'm not entirely comfortable with this process yet, okay?'_ He shied away, defensive and scared.

 _Alpha, we don't have time!_ "Hello, Florida."

Florida gave a cheerful salute. "Afternoon, Arizona. I see you've squirreled your way out of medical."

"Took a while," she replied, taking over her HUD from Alpha and clearing her field of vision. She tried to put as much ease and lightheartedness into her voice as possible. "What brings you to this part of the ship?"

He shrugged. "You, actually."

_Alpha, seriously, this guy is unpredictable. I need you to help me analyze him._

_'_ _He seems fine.'_

_He stuck a knife through some kid's hand and smiled about it!_

_'_ _Yeah, and I just watched you mow down a station full of civilians! So, ya know, not really coming from an unbiased memory bank, here!'_

"There something I can help you with?" she asked casually. Okay, that was one unexpected downside of being integrated again; she couldn't switch to Discontent when she needed to lie or act her way out of something. This was much harder when she actually cared.

Florida held up a finger, signaling for her to wait. She did, and after a moment, a message indicator flashed in her HUD. She opened it, and a news article appeared. "Convicted War Criminal Missing Following Controversial Pardon." She skimmed through the article, which talked about how one Donald Murdock was unexpectedly pardoned following his conviction for forty-seven counts of murder and five counts of manslaughter on the Everlasting Hope medical station. The article detailed how Murdock abused his station of power as the leading neural implant technician to induce multiple soldiers into an uncontrollable rampage.

"Is this…is this real?" she finally asked. She could feel Alpha analyzing the article and comparing it with her memory, which he had moments ago been so eager to drop.

"It's been circulating all over the ship," Florida responded. "Has video footage and everything. Of at least one Spartan clearly having problems with their implants after one Dr. Murdock was 'working' on them. Poor soldier couldn't control what was happening. Her own teammate had to shoot her." He spoke casually, as though he were describing the weather. Okay, well, actually, when Florida described the weather it was like he was the happiest man in the freaking galaxy. But his voice now was not quite befitting the alleged slaughter he was recounting. "We've all been talking about it. Terrible tragedy. We all agree that any one of his victims would probably be justified in…repaying Dr. Murdock. If he were found."

The full force of what he was doing hit her. "Florida…"

"Not that it could have been anyone on the ship," he continued. "Since we are all Freelancers, and we don't have past lives."

 _'_ _Arizona, this article is fake,'_ Alpha said suddenly. _'It's a really good fake, but it's fake.'_

_How many other people would know?_

_'_ _Maybe the Director and Counselor. I doubt anyone else would bother to check, and even if they did, it's backed up through enough channels that it looks real. But the fabrication footprint is too recent.'_

_What's a fabrication…never mind. Thanks._

Arizona nodded slowly to Florida. "I appreciate you keeping me in the loop," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound too careful.

Florida gave her a cheerful little wave. "Whatever is necessary for a friend!" he told her before practically skipping away. She watched the corner where he disappeared for some time before Alpha projected in front of her helmet and waved his arms to get her attention.

"Hello? Galaxy to Arizona!"

She shook her head. "You aren't supposed to be out here," she scolded, distracted.

Alpha waved his hand dismissively. "No one is coming. Besides, it's nice to talk to your face instead of your head. Your face is much prettier than your brain."

"I'm wearing my helmet."

"Yes, that's what I said. Much prettier."

"Asshole."

"Bitch." He paused, and she could feel him grinning a little, like this was some fun game between them. She supposed it sort of was. "Oh, and by the way, I came to my conclusion. You are not a psychopathic murderer."

"Oh, good," she told him as she started to walk toward the mess hall. She would probably still get a lot of stares, but Florida had set her up quite well for a decent explanation. _I owe him a drink. "_ Feels so nice to have your vote of confidence."

"Yup. Not a murderer. Just one hell of a fucked up soldier."

Arizona smiled. "Alpha," she said as she curled her fists, reflexively testing the fit of her gloves, "My guess? By the time this war is over, every single person on this ship will be a fucked up soldier."


	17. Fight and Flight

Even with Florida's not-so-honest help, Arizona felt all eyes on her the moment she entered the mess hall. She didn't have to fake her discomfort like she used to do with Logic or Discontent; this time, her hunched shoulders and downward gaze were completely authentic. Alpha wasn't helping much.

 _'_ _Man, these guys fucking_ hate _you! I mean, you know, I get it, you're kind of a crazy half-bitch, half-shark lady who tears people's limbs off for fun. But I just kinda thought, ya know, they would be used to that shit. Guess not.'_ He paused as he tried to look around the room with her eyes without actually getting too deeply rooted in their connections. _'Those your buddies over there? Go over, I want to meet them.'_

_Alpha. I'm hungry. I just want to get my food and go._

_'_ _Aw, come on! I haven't had anyone to talk to but you and the freaking Counselor for the last week. At least when I was in the computer I could spy on people.'_

_You know you can't actually talk to them, right?_

_'_ _Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll just tell you what to say.'_

She scooped the latest experimental concoction that somehow got put into the 'food' category onto her plate more slowly than necessary, watching the other Freelancers out of the corner of her eye. They had seen her. She could tell from the change in posture, the conspiratorial mutters, the quick and not-so-subtle glances. And of _course_ nearly all of them were there. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

_'_ _You have to talk to them eventually.'_

_I know, I know._

But she still didn't know what she was going to say. Maybe she could just…like…sit somewhere else? Stand and eat? Maybe she could find a way to eat under her helmet…

The room was suddenly lit in flashing red, alarms sounding. "Enemy sighted. Please report to your battle stations immediately, and prepare to enter slipspace." F.I.L.S.S. chimed happily over the intercom.

There was half a beat while the entire mess hall froze, taking in the orders. Then people were running, dropping their food and grabbing their helmets, scrambling for the exits. Carolina was shouting orders to the surrounding Freelancers, but Arizona couldn't hear what she was saying without the radio. It was too loud with the alarms.

_Alpha, what've we got?_

_'_ _Looks like a distress signal. Covenant forces converging on New Harmony. UNSC is calling for all nearby vessels to assist."_

_New Harmony, huh? Covs looking for an artifact, or just attacking the colonies?_

Alpha was silent for a moment, gathering intel from what Arizona assumed was the ship's communications center. _'Unclear. They're landing, though.'_

 _Got it._ Arizona dropped her tray onto the nearest table and ran toward the kitchens until she found the crate she was looking for.

 _'_ _Um. What the fuck are you doing?'_ Alpha asked as she tore the top of the crate open and started stuffing ration bars into a few of her mag pockets.

 _If they're landing, they're looking for something. Covs know they are better in space battles, they never land unless they think there might be an artifact,_ she explained as she finished stuffing about half her available pockets full of ration bars. _Which means,_ she continued as she raced back out of the kitchens, ignoring the bewildered expressions of what the UNSC thought passed for cooks, _we will be in a ground fight. The last firefight I was in with the Covs lasted fifty-seven hours._

 _'_ _But shouldn't you be using your ammo storage for, oh jeez, I don't know, some_ fucking ammo?'

 _There will be plenty on the ground. We'll be okay._ She stumbled a little as the ship lurched in the telltale sign of entering slipspace. They had twenty minutes, maybe thirty.

_'_ _I'm not worried about me! Things get dicey, I can just jump to someone less suicidal.'_

That gave Arizona some pause. _You can do that?_

_'_ _Fuck yeah, I can do that! Just need a radio and someone with some implants. Or a storage unit.'_

_Huh. Well, at least have the decency to wait until I'm dead._

_'_ _How about you don't die?'_

_No promises._ The doors to medical were open, so she ran straight in. Florida was already grabbing extra patch kits. He tossed a few to her as she approached and she tucked them away before turning and nearly getting her head knocked off by a flying medic. _What the…_

"Please, Agent Maine!" one of the doctors – she was pretty sure it was Dr. Grey, although she had never heard him using that tone of voice – cried out as Maine tried to snatch his helmet out from behind a very brave but very stupid medic. "You are in no condition for a ground fight!"

Maine disagreed, and let his opinion be known by tossing another one of the medics at the good doctor. They both crumpled against the wall. Dazed, but not hurt. Arizona knew Maine's strength. If he wanted to hurt them, they would have gone _through_ the wall. A few of the other medics backed away, sedation guns in hand.

But the doctor was right. She could see from the way Maine was moving that he was still injured, still having trouble pulling air into his artificially sealed lungs, still unable to completely block the pain in his damaged torso. As much as she would like to have a healthy Maine at her back in a fight, an injured one may be more of a liability than an asset. She sighed and sidled up next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder nearly a foot above her head.

"Hey Maine," she said lightly, smiling beneath her helmet, knowing it would carry to her voice. "Glad to see you up and swinging." She kept her body slightly behind his, using his own mass to block his field of vision as she held a hand out behind her. Someone got the idea and pressed a sedation gun into her hand.

Maine looked down at her, an almost feral glint in his eye. "Let's go," he grunted, straightening to grab his helmet.

"Sure thing," she replied cheerfully, waiting until his back was completely turned to her before hitting him with the sedation gun. She pumped the full amount into his neck before he could get his helmet on, but he still stayed awake long enough to turn toward her, furious.

Even without Wash, Arizona could read the clear 'fuck you' in Maine's expression before he stumbled and slumped over a table. She waited just long enough to be sure he wasn't going to get back up before leaving medical, Florida right on her heels.

"That was brave," Florida said lightly as they jogged through the hallways toward the armory.

"Just necessary," Arizona corrected him. The armory was, predictably, a buzz of activity. But they had drilled for this, knew exactly where to go and what to grab, so within minutes Arizona and Florida were leaving, weapons and ammo in hand. "So, do you know which battle stations we are reporting to?"

Florida shrugged, but right on cue, Arizona's radio crackled to life. _"Arizona, do you read?"_

"Go ahead, Carolina."

_"_ _You cleared for duty?"_

"Yes, ma'am."

" _Good. Then report to the hanger immediately. If you see Florida, tell him to get his lazy fucking ass in a Pelican, he's fighting with his goddamn squad this time, not flying off to god knows where in some launch pod!_ "

"You got it." She looked at Florida. "Carolina says hi."

Florida laughed. "So I heard," he chuckled as they headed down toward the hanger bay. Of the ten Pelicans they could fit aboard the Mother of Invention, seven were already being filled with soldiers. She scanned past the light grey uniforms until she found her rainbow target. She and Florida jogged up to the other Freelancers.

Carolina gave them one curt nod. "Okay, Arizona and Florida have arrived," she muttered. Arizona couldn't tell if she was talking to herself or someone on the other end of a radio channel. "That just leaves Maine, York, and North."

"Maine isn't coming," Arizona told her. "Couldn't get cleared." Alpha snorted, but Arizona hushed him. _You should be focused on integrating. I'm going to need you._

_'_ _Yeah, yeah. You worry about listening to Mrs. Sharkbite over there. I've got this.'_

_Pretty sure it's 'Ms.'_ She paused. _You sure you're okay?_

Alpha snorted again. _Remember rule number one._

_Alright. Cocky little asshole. Don't fuck this up._

Carolina started dividing the Freelancers into two teams, reserving space on one of the Pelicans for North and York. Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Delaware, Wisconsin, and South took their places in the second Pelican, with the extra seats being filled by infantrymen. Arizona looked around, wondering briefly why Carolina was splitting all their teams. North and South, Florida and Wyoming, Utah and Georgia…but then realized her plan. _Mutually assured protection. By splitting the teams, she's making sure we really watch each other's backs._

The ship shuttered again, and almost immediately, lasers connected with the ship's shields. From the hanger bay, they could see the explosions and bursts of fire all around them. "Guess we're here," Georgia muttered beside her.

"York! North!" Carolina shouted over their shared radio channel. "Where the hell are you?"

 _"_ _Almost there!"_ North replied. He sounded out of breath. _"Don't leave without us!"_

 _"_ _You have thirty seconds to get your asses in here,"_ Carolina politely informed them as she hopped into the ship. _"593, go ahead."_

Arizona could only assume 593 was their pilot, because their Pelican rose into the air immediately following the order and flew out of the hanger. "Yo, Carolina," South asked over the radio, "you got a briefing for us or what?"

 _"_ _The primary objective is to defend the colonies and assist in evac,"_ Carolina responded. She paused for a moment, probably to talk to York and North. _"Okay, everyone is here. We're right behind you."_

"Entering the firefield now," their pilot said from the front. Or maybe the copilot. "Everyone hang tight. Delaware, give me a read on our six."

Delaware popped up, bright orange armor flashing as she looked out the window. She provided a steady stream of intel to the pilots. She had clearly worked with these pilots before, because she seemed to know exactly what was and wasn't relevant to them, and on multiple occasions shouted out a specific evasive maneuver just in time. Arizona held on tightly to the overhead bars, trying not to bump too much into Georgia or Florida. Between the soldiers and the Freelancers, the Pelican was over capacity. Standing room only.

 _"_ _Okay, we just got word from UNSC command,"_ Carolina told them over the radio. _"We have two primary targets we need to defend. The first is a launch pad for evac, and the second is a munitions dump three clicks outside the nearest settlement. I'm talking Team Alpha to the launch pad."_

 _"_ We're splitting up?" Georgia asked.

_"_ _We have to. We don't have enough time to regroup and take one target at a time. Understood?"_

"Got it," Arizona told her. "You guys save the civvies, and Team Skittles will keep the aliens from stealing our bombs."

There was a pause as York cracked up, not bothering to keep his laughter under control.

_"_ _Team…Skittles?"_

"I like it!" Florida chimed in.

"Yeah, is that not why you put us together?" South added. It was amazing, Arizona thought, how well she could convey a smirk over the radio. "We got the whole fuckin' palate over here. Taste the rainbow, bitches!"

"It's official," Wisconsin chimed in, head bobbing slightly under his yellow helmet. "I'm only answering to Team Skittles."

_"_ _This is a serious military operation –"_

"Sounds like someone is upset they have a shitty team name," South cut her off. "Hey, you got Wash and North, right? You can be Team Pussy!"

_"_ _South!"_

_"_ _Wait, so, Team Pussy like a cat, or…?"_

_"_ _WASH!"_

_"_ _What?"_

_"_ _Everyone shut up!"_ Carolina snapped. _"Team Bravo, you take –"_

"Team Skittles," South corrected her.

Arizona could practically feel Carolina's growl, despite the fact that they were separated by half a click of space and two solid metal walls. _'You proud of that skittles thing?'_ Alpha snickered.

She grinned. _A little._

 _"_ _Team…Skittles,"_ Carolina snarled. _"I am sending you your coordinates –"_

But before she could finish her sentence, Delaware screamed something, and half a second later a laser went straight through the ship. The cockpit burst into flames. Delaware's headless corpse thumped to the floor.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Delaware!"

 _'_ _Move!'_ Alpha was screaming at her, conveying a flurry of calculations of probabilities that all added up to the fact that if they weren't out of the ship in the next five seconds, they were all going to die in a massive fireball.

"Bail!" Arizona screamed, pushing Freelancers and soldiers alike toward the hole that had been blasted through the rear door. "Move, move, we gotta go!"

_'_ _Two seconds!'_

She yanked Georgia off Delaware's body and shoved him off the Pelican, diving out after him. She could feel the reverberation as the flames connected with the engines just as her feet left the metal. The resulting explosion sent them all flying in slightly different directions. _Well, shit._ They were still too high for New Harmony's gravity to pull them down.

From her new, unplanned for perspective, Arizona could see the extent of the fight much more easily. Pelicans, Hornets, and XMF's buzzed around between the much larger UNSC frigates and the Covenant Destroyers, all of which were engaged in combat. Rockets, missiles, and lasers shot through the air, exploding or disintegrating enemy vessels.

And the Covenant was clearly winning.

Their ships outnumbered the UNSC's two to one, and they had set up a defensive parameter around the planet. The Covs were shooting down any vessel that managed to break away from New Harmony's surface, rendering evacuation useless.

 _"_ _Is everyone okay?"_ Carolina screamed.

Arizona looked around as a few of her teammates answered, some more dazed than others. She was still near Georgia, who was curled in on himself. She pulled up his bios, checking to see if he was hurt physically. Delaware's death was sure to render emotionally damaged. "I'm fine. Georgia isn't injured," she reported when the bios appeared in her HUD.

_"_ _Delaware?"_

No one answered for a moment. "K.I.A." Arizona snarled when the channel remained silent. Nearby, Georgia flinched.

 _"_ _Alright,"_ Carolina said after a moment. _"We're coming around to get you. Just hold on."_

 _Right,_ Arizona thought as she looked around, floating helplessly in the middle of a space fight. _Hold on._


	18. A Little...Crashy

Holding on turned out to be difficult. Before 479er even had time to lock onto their position, they were being fired upon.

_Alpha!_

_'_ _I'm here,'_ Alpha replied. His lack of attitude shook Arizona more than she was expecting. If he was actually being serious, they were all probably pretty fucked.

 _We need to get to some fucking cover!_ She curled as a few lasers flew by, far too close. Without some means of propulsion, there was little she could do to get out of the way. Her old Spartan armor would have been really nice right about now. Sure, it was pretty taxing to control, and the new Freelancer suit didn't require enhancements, so the fact that she _had_ the enhancements only made it easier. But her old suit also had jet propulsion. Freelancer used the space for a magic trick she couldn't use. _Scan the area, find me –_

 _'_ _Eight o'clock, Pelican wing,'_ Alpha cut her off. He pushed her vision toward the objective as he spoke. _'I'm turning on your grav boots. Just gotta sit tight thirty seconds, then the debris will line up and you, um, should be able to make it.'_

Arizona wasn't certain she liked the tone of the 'should' in his voice. _Aren't you a computer? Shouldn't you know?_

 _'_ _You're an unknown variable!'_ he cried defensively. _'All I have to assess your combat skills are your own memories. Not a terribly reliable reference point.'_

 _Okay, okay._ Several of the other floating Freelancers had the same idea. She could see the blue glow on the bottoms of their boots. South had actually managed to land on a badly damaged hornet, and was kneeling near the engines, trying to get one of them to fire up. Arizona could tell how little success she was having by the steady stream of insults and curses flooding her radio. But at least South was doing something.

 _'_ _Okay, you see that debris there?'_ Alpha asked her, lighting up her target on her HUD. _'It's going to come near enough for you to lock on with the boots in seven seconds. Here's your pathway.'_ Again, displayed in her visor for her convenience. _'You gotta push off this thing as hard as you can, though. Otherwise you won't make it in time.'_

 _Got it._ Arizona prepared herself, keeping an eye on the other Freelancers as she did so. South had managed to grab Florida and drag him onto the damaged Hornet. Wisconsin was with a group of some of the surviving soldiers, clinging to one another in a circle as Wisconsin tried to use his grav boots to attract some cover. Georgia floated listlessly about fifty yards away. He wasn't responding to their radio calls, but his vitals appeared normal.

Alpha's plan to get her to the broken Pelican wing worked much more smoothly than she had anticipated. He adjusted the power in her suit to ensure the force of her jumps were exactly right to make it to the next objective, and managed to do so without draining power from other functions. _You do well in the armor._

_'_ _Wow, is that a compliment? Holy shit. Stop the fucking presses.'_

_Prick. Any way we can get to Georgia?_

Alpha started working on calculations, but stopped almost immediately. _'479er approaching.'_

Arizona looked toward where Alpha pointed her. The Freelancer Pelican was firing at a group of XMFs, clearing the pathway toward them. As it turned, Arizona could see Carolina hanging out the back of the ship, one hand wrapped around a grab bar and the other around her grappling hook. York and North stood on either side of her, positioning themselves to catch the people she reeled in.

They got to Wisconsin's group first, and not a moment too soon. Wisconsin held his arm out, and Carolina successfully hit it with the hook, dragging the connected group of soldiers toward the Pelican. Seconds later, a Hornet exploded behind them. Had Carolina missed, or had the soldiers not already been connected, most of them would have been cooked.

_'_ _Heads up!'_

Two arrows lit up in Arizona's visor, and she immediately followed them as a smoldering piece of the Hornet's engine crashed into the wing she was using for cover. It wouldn't have killed her if she had been hit – probably – but it would have hurt like a mother. _Thanks._

_'_ _Yup. Looks like we're up next. Us and Georgia.'_

And so they were. After some dicey maneuvering to avoid the dead hull of the Hornet without throwing her passengers out the back, 479er pulled up to Georgia. North grabbed his arm and hauled him into the increasingly overcrowded staging area. Arizona ran to the top of the wing and held an arm out for Carolina to aim for.

 _'_ _No, WAIT!'_ Alpha shouted as Carolina pulled the trigger. Arizona had just enough time to register Alpha's panic before something incredibly large and incredibly _solid_ collided with her. She blinked as her vision exploded with indistinct colors, all air gone from her lungs. _'Arizona! Arizona!'_

_What…_

_'_ _MOVE!'_

Arizona would never be able to say exactly how she managed to followed Alpha's instructions, but miraculously, she managed to roll to the side. Something loud and hot exploded beside her. _What…Alpha, what happened?_

 _'_ _We're on the outside of a XMF,'_ Alpha explained hurriedly. _'Breathe, Zo. You gotta breathe.'_

 _Oh._ Arizona blinked again, pulling in a deep breath and listening as the suit worked to supply the required oxygen. Her ribs hurt, but didn't seem to be injured. Something exploded beside her again, and she flinched. Oh, she was right next to the main cannon. That explained the heat.

_"_ _Agent Arizona, d…copy…"_

"Carolina?" Arizona replied, but she didn't get a response. "Alpha?"

"We're out of range," Alpha replied, projecting himself beside her. "You okay?"

She coughed a little as she rolled to her knees. "Yeah…damned thing came out of nowhere."

Alpha fidgeted guiltily. "I'm sorry, I honestly didn't see it on the trackers. It has some sort of cloaking tech, I don't know –"

She held up a hand to silence him. "It's fine. Is there any way to get in contact with the others?"

Alpha nodded, seemingly eager to make up for missing the ship. "We just gotta find a longer range radio. Any of the main ships will have them. This one might not, though. Too small for ranged travel. Let me see if I can just…get…" His hologram blinked a little in the way she had learned in medical indicated that he was routing around in an outside structure little as he concentrated on inserting himself into the XMF's data systems.

Arizona nodded. She scanned the sky, being careful to stay out of the pilot's line of sight. A nearby Covenant destroyer was blasting apart a UNSC supply frigate. "You in?" she asked once he stopped flickering. He nodded. "Does the pilot know we're here?"

"Don't think so," Alpha replied. He paused, holding up a hand and flickering again. "No, you're invisible."

She nodded. "Can you control this thing?"

Alpha tilted his head a little. "I…don't think so. This is a pretty unfamiliar system. I would have to reconfigure my –"

Arizona held up a hand to stop him. "Sorry, bud, I don't speak computer. Can you tell which ship this thing is based out of?"

"Uh…yeah. CPV class heavy destroyer, 3.56 clicks," Alpha spun and pointed at the ship Arizona had been examining earlier, "thata way."

"Perfect." Without another word, she grabbed the base of the cannon and wrenched it out of place, bypassing Alpha and sending her suit's power to her arms as she did so.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shouted.

"Getting us a radio," she replied calmly, settling against the hull of the jet as the XMF changed course and headed toward the destroyer. "And a ride."

* * *

"Agent Arizona, do you copy?" Carolina practically screamed into her radio, keeping one hand on Wash's shoulder. Damned rookie looked like he was about to jump after her. "Agent Arizona, I repeat, do you copy?" Nothing. Just a ragged attempt at a breath, and then…static.

"Well?" Wash asked beside her as South and Florida scrambled into the back of the Pelican, shaken but unhurt.

Carolina cursed quietly. "Nothing."

The worst part was that they had been able to _hear_ her, could hear the sickening _crack_ as the ship hit her, could listen as she struggled unsuccessfully to take a breath. The fucking jet had come out of nowhere, slamming into Arizona before Carolina had a chance to catch her with the hook. It would have almost been comical if it weren't so real.

Carolina spun around. "479er," she called. But the pilot already knew the question, and answered accordingly.

"No way in hell. I don't know what they've been feeding you guys, but we are way too heavy. We're gonna be lucky to make it to the planet's surface."

Wash's desperate puppy eyes could have been painted across his visor for how well the kid was conveying his displeasure at that response. "We can't just leave her!" Carolina really wished Maine was here. He managed to bring the soldier out in Wash better than any of the rest of them could. Without Maine…he was just a kid.

"We don't have a choice," she growled. "479er, take us down."

"Yeah, on it."

Carolina moved past Wash and shot a look at North, who nodded and went to comfort the rookie. She wasn't exactly certain what Wash's relationship was with Arizona, but she couldn't have anyone else compromised on this mission.

Anyone.

"Georgia," she said softly, crouching in front of the only seated Freelancer. He didn't move his head, and his visor gave her no signals. Certain people, like Wash, mastered the art of conveying expressions across the unmoving landscape. Georgia was not one of those people. "Agent Georgia," she tried again.

"Yes, ma'am?" His voice was hoarse and deadpan.

It wasn't like this was the first time she had to have this conversation. But it never got easier. "I need you with me, okay?"

It took Georgia a moment to answer. "Yes, ma'am," he finally replied. She sighed.

"Look, Georgia, I know you and Delaware were…close." Close was an understatement. Half the ship was convinced they were secretly married. "And we will have time to grieve. Later. Right now, we –"

"Brace!" 479er shouted. The Pelican rocked heavily as a shot bounced off the shields. "Carolina, I need a fucking copilot up here!" Carolina looked at Georgia.

"That," she said simply before weaving her way through the bodies to take her place in the second seat of the cockpit. "What's the situation?"

"Oh, you know," 479er replied flippantly, "crashy, burny, die-y. The usual."

"Great." Carolina skimmed over the readings as she manned the guns. They weren't encouraging. The Pelican had taken some damage rescuing the other Freelancers, and thruster controls were only working at 70%. Right gun was firing sporadically, left was offline. Artificial gravity was losing power. "Any plans for landing this thing?"

479er snorted. "Define 'land.'"

 _Oh, fucking perfect._ "Can we get everyone onto the surface in one piece?"

"The surface of the _planet?_ "

Carolina stared lasers into the back of 479ers head. "Of course the planet. Are you suggesting we abandon the mission?"

"Well when you say it like _that._ " 479er cursed and grasped at the controls, rolling around the remains of a jet and diving down to avoid fire. She could hear Wisconsin moaning about space sickness in the back. "At this point, we can make it back to the _Mother of Invention,_ where we will crash into the hanger and get blown up by the aliens, or we can make it to the surface, where we will crash into the ground and get shot by aliens. Your call."

"Surface," Carolina replied immediately. 479er sighed.

"I don't get paid enough for this shit," she muttered as she sent them into a nosedive.

* * *

Alpha had quite a few things to say about their entrance into the hanger bay of the destroyer, but Arizona personally thought it went pretty well. "Oh, you hush," she told him as he rambled on about 'crazy-ass Freelancers' and 'suicidal tendencies.' She prodded the body of one of the Grunts with her foot, turning the little alien over to see if she could find a set of key codes. "We're alive, and we didn't set off any alarms."

"BECAUSE YOU CRASHED A FUCKING JET INTO THE CONTROL STATION!"

She moved on to the body of an Elite. _Nothing. Damn._ "…and?"

The little AI actually facepalmed. "What the fuck happened to subtlety?"

"I _am_ being subtle," she retorted as she pushed over an Elite closer to the doorway. _Fuck. Nothing. Guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way._ "They don't see us on their systems." She gave him a pointed look. "Right?"

"Well, no," he conceded, flickering a little. "But what if someone comes down here and sees this place?"

"Dude, we're in the middle of a fucking battle." Arizona crouched in front of the door, carefully positioning three fingers in the proper spots to imitate an Elite. It was, admittedly, difficult with comparatively tiny human hands. "They'll chalk it up to a direct hit. Or the XMF crashing."

"And all the aliens with bullet holes?"

The door hissed open and Arizona crept forward, staying as close to the green lighting along the enormous hallway as she could. Okay, CPV-class…if she remembered correctly, there should be a backup control station… _there. Alpha, any hostiles?_

 _'_ _No.'_ He spoke in her head, but didn't stop projecting. He liked to do that, she noticed, when he felt like she was especially likely to do something particularly moronic. Like sneak out of medical to grab some pudding, or infiltrate a Covenant ship by herself. _'What are you doing?'_

_If you would integrate all the way, you wouldn't have to ask._

_'_ _See, now, I'm thinking if I do that, I'm gonna get sucked into the black hole of your stupidity. You know, the one that already claimed all your common sense and survival instinct.'_

Arizona ignored him, examining the markings on the control station. She found the Sanghili set and selected it. It wasn't as simple as the system for the Grunts, but she couldn't fake her biosignature well enough to hack the Grunt system, and she understood Sanghili marginally better. The runes were still a little difficult to decipher – the Elites had different vision than humans, and she kept having to switch her infrared off and on to read what was on the panel – but she eventually figured it out. Okay, a few swipes this way, a code here, and…

_'_ _Holy shit, did you just open the airlock in the hanger bay?'_

_Now there aren't any bodies with bullet holes in them._

_'_ _Wait, wait, wait, how did you get into that system so quickly? I'm still running the diagnostics to even_ begin _to understand their coding.'_

She turned the airlock back on and, using her extremely advanced tactical training in stealth and recon, hid underneath the control panel. Hopefully, she had corrected the airlock quickly enough that only a small team would be sent to investigate. _Been doing this job for a while. The real fun comes when we get to the comm bridge._

_'_ _Why don't I like the sound of that?'_

_Relax. Things get dicey, you can jump, remember?_

_'_ _Yeah, I don't know if I can jump into an alien.'_ He paused. _'Also would prefer if you stayed alive,'_ he added as an afterthought. _'You know. Gotta keep a good track record. Might look kinda shitty if my first host kills herself. Not that it would be_ my _fault, but the Director is kind of a dick and may not look at it that way.'_

_Okay, Alpha. Just for you, I will try not to die._

_'_ _Thank you.'_

She tilted her head to get a better visual as a series of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Too many footsteps for a two-alien investigation team. Great. _Now, how should we kill this squad?_


	19. All Aboard

Agent Arizona, previously Echo-62, had been in the Spartan program since she was thirteen years old.

The young age was necessary. Though the augmentation process was much less dangerous than the disastrous experimental first round, where half the subjects were killed or permanently disabled (though, admittedly, the ones that survived remained the strongest soldiers in the UNSC), the surgeries still needed to occur throughout puberty to be effective. Genetic alterations, neural implants, bone reinforcements, all needed to line up with the body's natural changes.

And alongside the newer, much longer (though much less lethal) physical augmentation process came training. Mental and physical preparation for a lifetime of impossible demands. A careful shaping of natural instincts into warrior constitutions. Constant honing of survival and battle skills, with no room for error.

They were singled out for specialties early on, based on their genetic and neurological mapping. Certain Spartans would become heavies, since they had the genetic predisposition to endure sustained physical trauma. Others would become science specialists, natural curiosity harnessed to study the enemy even while engaged in combat. Some were leaders. Some were assassins. Some were infiltration and recon.

Echo-62 was put in the last group, for her genetic and mental characteristics. Quick, smaller than most Spartans, a natural ability to split her attention that was only augmented by surgically implanted neural processors. Able to camouflage into any environment, able to quickly learn new systems, perfect at carrying a map in her head and drawing it seamlessly from memory at a later date.

Adaptability was imperative. Crucial. Because she arrived upon a new scene even before the front lines, she needed to be able to use anything and everything at her disposal. Even if the means were unconventional. Or not particularly glamorous.

Arizona tried to explain that to the laughing AI in her head as she literally hid under a table and waited for the aliens to pass.

 _'_ _I am just waiting for one of these guys to lean down and say 'boo' and kill us both,'_ he gasped through his gleeful laughter. How a series of codes speaking to her through shared neural processors was unable to convey his thoughts without gasping for unnecessary breath was beyond her. Probably just Alpha being a prick.

 _Don't jinx it,_ she scolded him. _They don't know we're here. Easier to remain undetected if we don't leave a trail._

 _'_ _You know if you_ are _detected, everyone you don't kill now will be there to kill you then. Just sayin.'_

 _Well,_ we _,_ she responded, putting as much emphasis on the 'we' as possible, _will just have to be sneaky._

_'_ _Yeah, yeah. Hey, I think I've cracked the code on the cloaking tech these guys have.'_

That actually surprised Arizona quite a bit. _Really? UNSC has been trying to develop a reliable tracking system for years._

 _'_ _Okay, well, I never said anything about 'reliable,''_ he responded quickly. With a little huff. As though he knew she wasn't going to appreciate that, and he didn't appreciate not being appreciated.

Funny how sharing a head made predicting each other's behavior so easy.

_Well, what have you got for me?_

_'_ _Okay, so this will only work inside a closed system, and only within about fifteen, maaaaaybe twenty feet of wherever you are standing. I'm not actually tracking the aliens, I still haven't figured out how to get a reading off them when they're cloaked, but what I_ can _do is track the air pressure at a series of distinct points within the system. Pressure changes, we got company.'_

Arizona considered the information for a moment. _So I'm assuming the larger the space, the less reliable your system gets?_

_'_ _Well…okay, yeah, but I think you are missing the utter genius that was involved in –"_

_Rule number one; you are awesome,_ she replied with a smirk. _Just clarifying our restrictions._ She glanced around as the sounds of movement completely disappeared. _So should I close as many doors as possible?_

_'_ _Yes, actually. These blast doors are completely sealed in case something gets breached. All gotta act as backup airlocks. The more you can close…'_

_…_ _the smaller the systems become…_

_'…_ _and the more reliably I can track movement. You got it.'_

_Makes sense._ She crawled out from under the table once she was certain she was in the clear and continued toward the communications bridge. While she had never actually been on an intact CPV-class destroyer, she had seen full schematics, and the layout had somehow survived the many renditions her brain had suffered through.

Not that surprising, she supposed. Since she had been genetically altered to remember maps.

Sneaking through the ship was actually relatively easy. She kept out of the main hallways as much as possible, and it seemed that most of the ship's inhabitants where either solidly positioned at their battle stations or had already dropped planetside. The aliens didn't seem terribly concerned with routine sewage maintenance while in the middle of a space battle, interestingly enough.

 _'_ _You got three on the other side of this door,'_ Alpha told her and she silently passed the alien equivalent of a mess hall.

_Moving?_

_'_ _Nah, standing guard.'_

Arizona tucked her rifle against the crook of her arm and listened. They were near the belly of the ship, so she couldn't time her shots with the sounds of the cannons firing. But three was too many to take out with her combat knife alone. Maybe if there were two… _any ideas on this one?_

_'_ _I don't know. Throw rocks at the door panel?'_

_Oh, ha ha, very…_ she paused, looking down the hallway. _You thinking what I'm thinking?_

_'_ _Technically, no, I am not creating the neural impulses. Just reading them.'_

_Alpha._

_'_ _Yeah, yeah. It might work.'_

That was good enough for Arizona. She backed slowly into the mess hall and grabbed an armful of various heavy-looking objects. A pipe, a tray, an…alien…thing. She then returned and, praying to divine entities she didn't believe in, chucked the objects down the hallway. They clanged loudly, and sure enough, the door opened.

_'_ _Go!'_

She didn't need Alpha to tell her twice. Once the three guards had passed the doorway, she slipped out from behind her hiding place and took off, leaving the aliens to try to determine why a tray was lodged in a gravity generator. When she was halfway to the next door, the entire ship gave a huge tremor, followed by a concussive noise somewhere above. Arizona was thrown to the ground and skidded down the hallway as the artificial gravity controls struggled to realign.

_What the hell was that?!_

Alpha was silent for a moment, and she could feel him trying to ping the ship's communication systems without being detected as a hostile force. ' _Oh, crap. Zo, we can't go to the communication bridge.'_

_Why not?_

_'_ _Because there_ is _no communication bridge,'_ he replied. _'Shields must have dropped…MAC cannon got through. Took out an engine and the comm bridge.'_ He was quiet for another moment, letting Arizona focused on finding cover. She opened the next door, closed it behind her, and squeezed behind a generator as he concentrated on the ship's diagnostics.

_What have you got for me?_

_'_ _Okay, looks like the slipspace drive, the third starboard engine, the comm bridge, and one of the hanger bays got taken out by the blast,'_ he told her, half speaking, half relaying the general meaning of his thoughts. _'We can try to get to one of the port hangers…but this ship isn't going to stay up much longer. It's too close to the planet, without that engine the gravity will pull it down within the hour.'_

Arizona nodded. _What about the control center?_

Alpha didn't respond right away. _'What about it?'_

_Is it still functional? Can it still control the ship?_

_'_ _Yes…'_ he responded, cautiously poking at their connection points to see what Arizona was planning. He obviously didn't like it, because he projected in front of her. "Why?!" he cried. "Why are you constantly coming up with ways to kill us? Can't we just go steal a jet or something?"

"We have no idea where the rest of the team is," she hissed in return. "At the very least, we need to radio them."

"The control room is going to be the most heavily guarded place on the ship!"

She shrugged and repositioned her rifle, checking again that her extra mags were actually in a place where she could easily reach them, even if injured. "Yup. I would imagine so. Ready?"

Alpha shook his head in defeat. "I hate you. I really fucking hate you. You understand that, right? I'm not just saying that. I almost want to help you just so you die."

"Sounds like a yes to me."

With the ship in disarray, Arizona didn't have to try as hard to be stealthy. Everyone who passed in the hallways was clearly in a hurry to attend to one of the many disasters unfolding on the ship, and with Alpha carefully watching for their approach, she was able to hide before most of her enemies passed. She had to shoot a few, but the increasing chaos on the ship covered the sounds well enough.

They eventually made their way toward the control room. Alpha, unsurprisingly, was right. The control center was the most heavily guarded place on the ship. As she listened to Alpha's intelligence report, Arizona started to realize that her brilliant idea may not have been so brilliant after all. She was crouched at the entrance to the elevator that would take them to the correct floor. Alpha had hacked into their security systems and was relaying the information to her, showing what seemed like platoons of aliens patrolling the floor around the control center.

 _We can't sneak past that,_ Arizona thought as she 'watched' the enemy movement outside her objective. Nor would she be able to fight through all of the aliens; there were simply too many, and they didn't go down terribly easily with anything but a shot directly through the head. Well, the Grunts did, but it seemed most of them had been dropped planetside. There was no dropping in from above, either; the control centers on Covenant ships were always surrounded by some incredibly strong alloy. Not even the alien's own energy blasters could make a dent in it.

And that was before she even reached the control center. The only ways to walk to the center were along one of three relatively narrow pathways. The drop off any wouldn't be fatal alone, but if she did slip, she wouldn't survive being shot at. The control center itself had only necessary personnel, probably to keep a smooth flow, but the area around it was heavily guarded, with several Elites forming a barrier across the walkways every thirty feet.

_Hey, Alpha…where are the grav generators for that room?_

_'_ _One sec.'_ She waited patiently as Alpha sifted through the ship's information. _'The generator for the control room is in a protected box directly under the navigation systems.'_ A schematic of the ship appeared in her HUD as he spoke, with the gravity generator highlighted. _'The area outside has four larger generators along the sides of the walls, here.'_ Again, her targets lit up. _'Rest of the floor is pretty much standard positioning. What are you thinking?'_

 _I'm thinking that's a pretty significant fall off those walkways,_ she replied. _How long would it take for the backup generators to come online if the main four were damaged?_

 _'_ _It would have to be rerouted manually at this point,'_ Alpha replied. _'Ship has sustained enough damage that backup anything needs to be approved. Trying to save power. What…Christ, I don't really want to know, but what is your whole plan?'_

She showed him. He examined her thought process for a moment, picking at certain details. To her surprise, he sighed. _'It's probably as good as we're going to get. Go along the right side, take out these two generators,'_ he lit up the corresponding targets, _'and the other two will start working to reestablish an even field within about twenty seconds.'_

_Can you sustain the shields and boosters well enough for the initial run and still be able to run the grav boots?_

_'_ _Yes, but Arizona, you have to be careful. I will do what I can, but if you take more than one blast at the same time I might not be able to keep your shields running.'_

_Got it. Ready?_

_'_ _No. But let's get this over with. We're missing out on the battle.'_

She snorted as she opened the elevators, wishing she had Carolina's speed booster. The suit still had standard speed boost, and unlike other soldiers, her reinforced bones would allow her to actually use the technology to its full extent without liquefying herself. And she trusted Alpha to run the equipment well; he had been remarkable in the suit so far. Even so… _nothing for it. We gotta get to the control center and contact the team._

_'_ _Be there in five.'_

Arizona lined herself up against the back of the elevator, positioning herself to take off the second the doors started to open. She planted one foot on the back wall for the extra push. Not much, but it could save her life. _'As long as you don't stop, it should take you 43.84 seconds to get to the door. Don't bother hacking it – one good shot and you should short-circuit the panel and the door will open. I'm already rerouting the system so it closes when you are through. Two seconds.'_

_Ready._

The elevator doors opened and Arizona burst forward, running as fast as she could along the path Alpha was lighting up in her HUD. The entire floor was crawling with aliens, but for the first ten seconds no one fired at her. It seemed her plan was working; they were so surprised by the presence of a single human soldier aboard their space-born ship that they didn't immediately react.

The surprise didn't last forever, though. Eventually, the whole 'enemy human' detail clicked with someone, and a single stream of energy blasts sailed wide of her shoulder. Soon, the rest of the aliens got the idea and started shooting.

A few blasts connected with her shields, which she let Alpha continue to run, but for the most part the shots missed. She was moving much more quickly than most of the human soldiers the aliens had certainly run into, and Alpha was fluctuating the power to her boosters just enough to keep her movement patterns erratic. Without a pattern, the aliens could do little but shoot and hope. And in such close quarters, most seemed reluctant to fire at her if there was a possibility they would hit one of their allies instead.

She made it to the door in closer to fifty-three seconds. On Alpha's command, she fired a single shot at the pane, which exploded in sparks. The door opened with a hiss. She dove through the entrance among a cluster of energy blasts and rolled to her feet, ignoring the guns the Elite guards were leveling at her head. _Pop-pop-pop._ First gravity generator down. She rolled to the side at Alpha's insistence, barely missing another set of blasts, and took aim at the second generator. _Pop-pop-pop._

Both generators sparked and died as the door behind her closed. "Grav boots!" she called to Alpha, who had already complied and turned her boots on. The Elites blarged in surprise as the gravity on the walkway disappeared, leaving them floating helplessly. They still aimed at her as they drifted away, but she ran straight across the walkway, missing most of the shots. The ones that did hit her were absorbed by her shields.

 _'_ _I can only run the shields and the booster for about ten more seconds,'_ Alpha warned.

But Arizona didn't need ten seconds. She screeched to a halt in front of the door to the control center and crouched in front of the lock, working quickly. _'Gravity should be coming back online,'_ Alpha told her, and sure enough, the organized blargs and honks behind her gave way to startled, frightened ones as the gravity returned and the Elites plummeted toward the ground. She counted seven crunches at the bottom, but couldn't afford to look.

_Right turn, pull that up, code here – no, there – left, up, push…why isn't this opening?_

"We're about to have company," Alpha warned. "They're opening the first set of doors."

"Almost there," Arizona sang, not able to keep her frustration from seeping across their connections. "Dammit! Why isn't this working?"

Alpha projected next to the lock and pointed to something. "Keep one finger here and try it again."

Arizona complied, and the door opened with a hiss. She immediately grabbed her rifle and swept the area, mowing down the Elites in the control room before they had time to realize what was happening. They took fewer bullets than the guards outside would have, since they were wearing gear designed to help them fly a ship rather than to withstand enemy fire. As soon as she was certain she wouldn't be fired at, Arizona spun around and hit the door controls, closing them.

She leaned back and took a few deep breaths, finally having time to notice how her lungs were burning. So was her heart, and her skin…she looked down. Her armor was smoking. "Alpha?" she gasped.

"You're okay," he said reassuringly, appearing in front of her and she sank slowly to the ground, her legs refusing to support her. "Give it a minute. You pretty much used all your stores on that last run."

"Do I…need to plug in?" she asked shakily, feeling a little lightheaded. That never happened to her before, and this certainly wasn't the first time she had used her boosters. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Not your suit's energy stores. _Yours._ You know, your biological ones."

That had _definitely_ never happened to her. Was she really that out of shape? That much of a potential liability?

Alpha, seeming to sense her upset, made a motion of kneeling in front of her. "Hey," he said, waving a hand in front of her to make sure he had her attention, "it's not you. It's me."

"You…breaking up…with me?" she panted.

"Ha ha. You're fucking hilarious." He paused. "I had to override some of the safety protocols to keep the speed up. Your suit wouldn't allow you to run so fast for so long without an AI. You haven't ever actually run that fast. In your life. The suit wouldn't have let you before."

"Oh," she replied simply. Yeah. That made sense.

"I'm gonna administer a stim," he told her. She groaned.

"I hate those things."

He waved at her dismissively. "And I hate it when I have to almost kill you to keep you from dying. So shut up and thank me for saving your ungrateful ass."

She tilted her head, grinning. "Thanks for saving my ungrateful ass," she muttered. She winced as she felt the stim injected into her bloodstream. "Ugh. I'm gonna be sick."

"Well don't do it in your helmet, you'll drown," Alpha told her encouragingly. He blinked out of existence for a moment, only to appear over a control panel fifteen feet away. "Here's the radio. I'm going to try to get the MoI."

She got to her feet shakily, casting a wary glance at the door behind her. "Hey, Alpha, how long until the aliens get in here?"

"A while," he replied calmly. "I put the place in lockdown." He fell silent for a moment before giving a concerned sort of growl. "I can't get them," he muttered angrily. "What the hell?"

"Maybe they're out of range?" Arizona was feeling a little better already. Her heart was racing and she felt shaky, but it was more a feeling of over-caffeination than of exhaustion.

"The only way they could be out of range is if they entered slipspace again," he replied. She could feel the waves of his concern washing over her as he ran thousands of calculations and probabilities, each presenting a bleaker scenario than the last.

"Well, can we contact Skittles?"

Alpha didn't respond right away, focusing on his probabilities. "Uh…yeah," he said finally after she gave him a mental prod. He pointed to the control panel. "Change that dial. I'll let you know when we've got them on the radio."

After some fiddling, Arizona had the Freelancer's shared mission channel. She listened for a moment. No one was talking, but there was an impressive amount of gunfire in the background, and enough screaming to tell her that things weren't going well on the planet's surface. _Shit._

"Agent Carolina?" she called into her radio. "Agent Carolina, this is Agent Arizona, do you read?"

No one responded for a moment. Then York's voice rose above the background noise. _"No freaking way. Alright, Wash. I owe you fifty bucks and a gallon of ice cream."_

 _"_ _Don't…forget…the beer."_ Arizona's eyes widened a little. Wash sounded _extremely_ winded. _"Hey, Zo. York…thought you died."_

"Yeah, gathered as much," she replied, trying to keep her voice light. _What's wrong with Wash?_ "Faithless asshole. Carolina there?"

_"_ _ARIZONA! WHAT THE HELL?"_

" _Yeah, she's here_ ," York pointed out helpfully.

"Carolina, what's the situation down there?"

_"_ _We're outside of Tyumen. We're holding the place down but taking a beating. Got a lot of wounded –"_

_"_ _Wash managed to get run over by our own Warthog,"_ York elaborated.

_"_ _Things aren't good. We need you here stat. Where the hell are you?"_

Arizona exchanged a glance with Alpha. "What happened to the ammo dump?"

 _"_ _Abandoned the objective. Covs took control of it before we even landed, it's what they're using as their base of operations."_ Arizona had never heard Carolina sound so defeated.

"Got it. One sec, Carolina."

 _"_ _What do you…Arizona, don't you dare –"_ Arizona muted the radio, but maintained the connection. She looked at Alpha.

"No," the AI said immediately, crossing his arms and moving his projection directly in front of her. "No fucking way. Nope. I refuse to help you kill yourself."

She rolled her eyes. "Is it possible?"

"Mathematically, yes. Realistically, no. Because I'm not helping you die in a fiery explosion. That's it. End of discussion."

Arizona shrugged as she turned back toward the radio. "That's fine. I'm doing it anyway."

"Zo!"

"Carolina, this is –"

 _"_ _Don't you fucking hang up on me ever again, you got that, Arizona?"_ Carolina growled over the radio. _"Now,"_ she continued, not waiting for Arizona's acknowledgement, _"where are you? Are you injured? Do I need to send a rescue team?"_

"No, I'm fine. Can you see a Covenant CPV-class heavy destroyer above you? The one with the smoking engine?"

There was a brief pause, during which she could hear the slightly muted sounds of the other agents communicating. It sounded like Florida, Wyoming, and South were trying unsuccessfully to hold down an entrance point. _"Yes."_

"I'm in the control center."

_"_ _The control center where? I need coordinates."_

"On the ship. I am standing in the control center of the destroyer."

The radio momentarily conveyed only the sounds of gunfire as all the agents fell silent. _"You're…flying it?"_ Carolina finally managed.

Arizona exchanged a glance with Alpha. "Well, 'flying' might be a generous term. But I think can figure out the controls enough to decide where this thing crashes. And I have a good idea where I want to park."

Carolina paused. _"The ammo dump."_

"Bingo."

 _"_ _Wait…Zo…you can't…do that!"_ Wash gasped over the radio, disobeying the rule about not ever interrupting Carolina. He did not sound good, struggling to huff out each word. _"How…will you…get back?"_

 _"_ _Wash, be quiet!"_ Carolina ordered. _"North, you're on Wash duty."_

 _"_ _Got it,"_ North replied.

_"_ _Arizona, do you have the position of the ammo dump?"_

"Yes I do."

_"_ _Then you have my permission to commence. Do try to get yourself the hell off the ship before it crashes, though. That's an order."_

"Understood." She muted the transmission and looked at Alpha. "What do you say, Alpha? Want to figure out how to fly a ship with me?"

Alpha just groaned and put the front of his helmet in his hands.


	20. Jump

Washington winced as North dragged him back, clearing the area seconds before the charges exploded. "You okay?" North asked as they both dropped behind cover.

"Yeah," Wash gasped, holding the bottom of his ribcage. It was really, _really_ fucking hard to breathe. His HUD assured him that he wasn't losing blood, but goddamn did it hurt. His left hip didn't seem quite right either; every time he tried to put weight on it, it felt like his femur was slipping out of place.

But he could still shoot, so he and North were guarding the pathway to one of the shelters on the outskirts of the city. The shelter was some old temple, built by whatever civilization had occupied New Harmony thousands of years prior to the human colonization. The place was enormous, and apparently served as a research facility and tourist attraction for Tyumen.

It was also the only place the aliens weren't bombing.

They had lost contact with the _Mother of Invention,_ and by extension with UNSC command. But the officer in charge of the ground battle, some guy named Stauss or Stratus or something, had halted evacuation attempts in favor of a shelter-based tactic. So the remaining human forces were guarding the routes between the city and the temple, doing their best to protect the civilians as they flooded out of Tyumen. A few squads were holding down key strategic positions to keep the aliens from getting too close, but the Freelancers were protecting the most dangerous points of the evac routes.

Unfortunately, the aliens didn't seem terribly happy about humans entering and desecrating their sacred temple. The ones that managed to break through the initial defenses (and there were a lot that managed to break through) were hellbent on killing every single one of the humans. "Mags!" Wash shouted as he emptied his last clip into the group of Grunts scurrying toward them. North grabbed a few handfuls out of the ammo crate they had found and tossed them close enough to Wash for the younger soldier to reach.

_"_ _North, Wash, how are you holding up?"_

"Still alive," North replied to Carolina. Wash caught the purple Freelancer glancing in his direction as he emptied the next clip. There were so freaking many aliens. "Mostly, anyway."

_"_ _Alright. Change in plan. General wants our team to guard the southeast temple entrance. We're approaching your position."_

"What about…" Wash started, grimacing as he braced for the kickback on the battle rifle. The kickback itself wasn't bad, but with his ribs damaged any contraction of his abdominal muscles hurt. "What about the civilians?" he managed on his second try. There were still a decent number of people running along the semi-intact walls from the city to the temple.

_"_ _Enemy is hitting that entrance hard. Utah and Wisconsin can't hold out on their own for much longer."_ Carolina said by way of response. She didn't need to elaborate further for Wash to hear the underlying message. The civilians who weren't in the temple by now were already casualties. They just didn't know it yet.

What did that make him and North, then?

"Don't know if we're going to be able to walk there," North replied, glancing again at Wash. Normally, he would be annoyed at North's overprotection. Right now he was in too much pain to care. _Guess that makes it warranted protection._ Besides, North was right. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to walk anywhere.

_"_ _We've got a vehicle. Picking you up."_

"Please tell me…Wyoming isn't driving," Wash panted.

_"_ _My driving was fine, thank you very much,"_ Wyoming huffed over the radio _._

_"_ _Don't worry, man. I've got the wheel,"_ York told him. Wash felt a lot more grateful for that fact than he should have. He knew it hadn't technically been Wyoming's fault he got run over, but still…cars definitely hated him, and Wyoming probably hated him, but York liked him. York would make at least some effort not to kill him. _"Got eyes on the target. Approaching now."_

Wash glanced away from the floods of Covs bursting past an overrun outpost and toward the sound of an engine approaching. York was driving some sort of transport vehicle toward them; non-military, judging by the lack of a gun with something to prove mounted on the back. Carolina was half-standing in the passenger seat. Wyoming knelt in the flatbed, doing his best to snipe at enemies while moving. South sat on the edge of the flatbed in front of him, legs dangling off the side as she provided Wyoming cover fire. Florida was lying on his back, unmoving, with York's healing unit hovering above him.

York stopped behind a barricade, and South hopped off the truck to cover them as North slung Wash's arm over his shoulder. Wash tried not to hiss too loudly as he put weight on his left leg moving over the uneven terrain. His head spun with pain. _I thought the armor was supposed to prevent broken bones._

"You gonna make it?" North asked him as Carolina flew past them to collect the ammo crate.

Wash nodded, but didn't say anything. He'd been in worse situations. He could make it to a fucking truck thirty yards away. Probably. Maybe.

He realized as he approached the flatbed that he wasn't going to be able to climb onto it by himself. And he really, _really_ didn't want to ask Wyoming for help. Luckily, York seemed to notice Wash's impending problem and jumped out of the driver's seat before Wash or North had to ask someone for assistance. Wash knew North was injured as well, having taken a shot to the upper arm earlier. He had insisted it was just a graze, but hauling Wash around had to be taking its toll.

"Dude, you look like shit," York said by way of greeting. He tried to take Wash's rifle so that he could put Wash's right arm over his shoulder, but Wash leaned away.

"No…" he said. He _needed_ his rifle. He did _not_ let go of his rifle. Very, very carefully, with far more emphasis than could have possibly been needed, he tucked the rifle onto the mag strip across his back. Only then did he allow York to help.

"You can be quite the little cockbite, did you know that?" York said as he took Wash's weight. The pain lessened substantially. Wash grunted.

"You boys okay?" Carolina asked from behind them. Wash glanced over his shoulder as well as he could. Carolina and South were carrying the ammo crate between them, moving much more quickly than North, Wash, and York. _Okay, there's no way I'm heavier than an ammo crate._

The women hauled the crate onto the back of the truck and jumped up, holding their arms out. North and York each handed them one of Wash's hands and they pulled him up, York providing a step for his good leg. Wash groaned involuntarily. _Fucking fuckballs, that fucking hurts._

Once Wash was safely aboard, Carolina resumed her position in the passenger's seat and held off any aliens stupid enough to come within range. South hauled her brother onto the bed as York jumped back in the driver's seat and took off, talking on the radio with C.T. and Georgia.

"Wyoming, scooch," South ordered as she crouched behind Wash and looped her arms under his shoulders. She pulled him toward the front of the flatbed, ignoring his muttered and empty protests, and laid him down next to Florida. She snatched the glowing healing unit out of the air, changed something on the controls, and repositioned it between him and Florida.

"Is that…does he need it more?" Wash managed, glancing at his unmoving teammate.

Florida gave him an exhausted thumbs-up to let Wash know he was still alive as Wyoming chuckled. "Don't you worry, lad. Takes more than a few bullet holes to keep him down."

Wash glanced up at Wyoming, then back at Florida as North surreptitiously set up his position within range of the healing unit. A small puddle of blood was collecting at his elbow. At this rate, none of them would survive the battle.

"Let's hope Zo is having more luck than we are," Wash muttered as he grabbed his rifle off his back.

* * *

 

Arizona wasn't having much luck; flying a Covenant destroyer turned out to be far beyond her physical capabilities. The controls were different than on human ships, but not terribly complicated once she and Alpha had managed to decipher the labels. And it wasn't a lack of manpower; the ship was designed to be controlled by a single pilot in an emergency, and clearance protocols were apparently overridden when crashing was imminent. Quite the handy safety feature; Arizona made a note to mention it to the Director. The ship itself was even still relatively flyable. If she really wanted to actually land it, she probably could have.

Except she was too short.

The ship was designed to be flown by Elites or Brutes, so the controls were spread far enough apart that even North would have had some trouble comfortably reaching everything. The throttle was at Arizona's chest level, but the navigation system was overhead. Alpha watched her standing on the tips of her toes and making little hops to reach the nav panel, accompanied by sound effects, for nearly a full minute before he sighed and told her to just guard the freaking door.

She grumbled but consented, taking a defensive position in front of the door Alpha told her was most likely to be the point of entry. She dragged a few bodies in front of her, creating a makeshift barrier. Not perfect, but it would have to do. _Any luck?_ Alpha didn't respond. She tried poking at their connections, but realized he was only keeping enough of a presence in her mind to continue bridging her aspects. The rest of his concentration – including his 'conscious' thought – was with the ship. "Any luck?" she asked out loud.

"Yeah, working on plotting a course. Ship has a dumb AI that isn't too happy about the destination, working on overriding it now," Alpha replied.

Arizona checked the weapons she had gathered off the bodies, laying them around her in a precise pattern. _I can shoot one-handed with this one while I reload this one…this takes two hands…I can set this one to autofire…_ once she was satisfied that she would be able to maintain a steady stream of fire, she glanced back at Alpha. "Hey," she said, and his hologram looked up, "any ideas for how we get out of here?"

Alpha tilted his head to the side as sparks started flying from the seal in the door. "Step one is to hold them off," he told her.

* * *

 

"Hold them off! Wash!"

"Working on it!"

"York, status!"

"Pretty fucked," York replied as he pulled Wyoming out from the wreckage. He cursed as an energy blast hit him, activating his shield.

"WASH! I told you to hold them off!"

"Working on it," Wash sang irritably. "I'm outnumbered about a hundred to one, Carolina."

"Just. Do it."

Wash scowled, but obediently leveled his rifle and spread another clip into the oncoming enemy forces. Wyoming took up position next to him as York and Carolina tried to dig the remaining Freelancers out from the rubble. Wash still wasn't entirely certain what had happened; one second, Carolina was shouting something about a rocket, and the next they were flying through the air, landing in the midst of a blown-out building, which had helpfully started collapsing in on them. The only reason he wasn't hurt worse was because he had landed on top of York (a fact which York had pointed out several times).

"Looks like you gals could use some help," South said, laying on her stomach next to Wash. She glanced briefly at his leg, which was clearly not attached to his hip the way a leg should be. "You got pretty fucked, huh?"

"Less talking, more shooting!" Carolina demanded. Georgia was scrambling out of the wreckage, hauling Florida with him.

"How far are we from the temple?" Wash asked, not addressing anyone in particular. Not because he was in massive pain or because he really wanted a medic to look at his hip and ribs or because he was in _massive amounts of fucking pain._ Just because he was concerned about the mission.

Carolina crouched beside them, scanning the area and presumably (hopefully) searching for a way out. Wash knew he should be analyzing their position and strategizing possible movements, but it was all he could do anymore to aim before pulling the trigger. Not that he really needed to. There were enough aliens that he could have done a nearly blind sweep and still hit something.

"We're moving positions," she told them after a moment, not answering Wash's question. "York, Wyoming, Florida; you flank left to that structure at 2 o'clock. Wash, North, South, flank right. C.T., Georgia and I will cover you and follow once you are clear."

South snorted. "I can go, but I'm not carrying him," she said, jabbing her thumb toward Wash. Carolina finally really looked at her youngest soldier, eyes lingering on the hip that Wash was now convinced had been dislocated.

"Shit, Wash, why didn't you say something?"

Wash didn't stop firing, but he did look at Carolina. _Seriously? I've been whining about it to her for the last hour._ "Please don't fuck with me, boss."

Florida pulled himself up. "Wash and I should stay here," he said.

Carolina spun around to stare at him. "No," she said flatly.

Florida shook his head. "He and I can't move fast enough. We have a better chance if we take cover here. You all need to get to the temple, now. We'll be okay," he added in his normal, cheerful voice. "We always are."

"I'm not leaving any of my team! We'll figure something–"

"Carolina." She looked at York, who was pointing at the enemy lines. "I don't like it either, but Florida may be right on this one."

Three Scarabs were approaching, massive Covenant machines that carried entire squadrons of fighters. A huge, powerful cannon was attached to the front of each. The Scarabs 'walked,' could move over almost any obstacle, and had powerful shielding systems, making them nearly impossible to stop.

_"_ _Carolina? Where are you? We're getting hammered here!"_ Wisconsin's cool, easy demeanor was nonexistent in his transmission, replaced by a stressed voice they all knew as pain.

"Dammit," Carolina hissed, glancing again at the Scarabs. They were moving quickly, and toward the southeast entrance of the temple where the Freelancers were supposed to be gathering. With Washington and Florida, they would never make it in time.

"Go, Carolina," Wash told her, voice tight. It wasn't ideal, but Florida was right; the two of them might be able to hole up and survive. They would do nothing but slow the rest of the group down.

Carolina seemed to be fighting with herself, but after a moment she hissed "fine" and started gathering what equipment she could. North pointed out a nearly concealed, easily defensive hole in what had presumably been the basement of the building. He and York helped Wash get settled into it while Wyoming dragged Florida along.

York took out his healing unit and made to hand it to them, but Wash held up a hand to stop him. "Wasn't doing anything for me anyway," he said truthfully. The healing unit sped up the body's natural processes, but it didn't do much for breaks, burns, or dislocations. It mainly kept the user from bleeding to death and accelerated the process of repairing wounds.

"And I've stopped bleeding," Florida added. He didn't need to elaborate any further; the truth was as loud as it was unwelcome. York and the others were likely to need the unit more.

York seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but when Carolina called for him to move, he tucked his healing unit back into his suit. "We'll be back for you," he told them, not even able to muster his signature fake confidence.

Wash forced a smile, even though York couldn't see it. "We aren't going anywhere."

* * *

 

"You know Alpha, at this rate, we won't be going anywhere!" Arizona called.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it!" he called back. "Almost done…"

Arizona ducked down behind the increasingly large pile of bodies to reload. Aliens of all types were flooding through one door, and sparks were flying along the seals of the other two. She and Alpha wouldn't last much longer.

"Done!" Alpha shouted. His hologram flickered out of existence and reappeared next to her. "Course laid in, and I've got it encrypted as hell. No way those fucktards can keep this thing from crashing."

"I'll sing your praises later," she assured him as she braced against the kickback of her rifle. "Right now, I need you to set a course for the nearest hanger –"

She was cut off as one of the doors flew forward, cut away from the seals. Covenant soldiers rushed in and Arizona ducked behind her makeshift barriers, lobbing grenades to slow them down.

"I'm running the numbers, I don't think we can make it out through a hanger," Alpha responded.

"Escape pods?"

"Already launched."

"Shit. Um…" she tried to think of another way to escape, but it was difficult to concentrate with two streams of enemies rushing toward her. She was running out of ammo, and they were running low on time. "How long?"

"Until we crash?" Alpha asked. "Less than three minutes." He kept his voice level, but she could feel his panic increasing as he ran probabilities, trying to come up with a scenario in which they lived. She couldn't even begin to comprehend the numbers, but she was able to read Alpha's general 'oh fuck' feeling.

The third door burst open, and Arizona made a split second decision. There was no way she could fight through all the aliens. If Alpha was right, and all the escape pods had launched, it meant everyone still aboard this ship needed to kill her if they had any hope of survival. They would all be converging on her position. She needed to find a way to retreat. That only left one option.

"Speed boost, now!" she screamed at Alpha, who immediately complied despite not knowing her plan. She leapt away from her cover and ran toward the front of the control room, darting between consoles to try to maintain some protection. Once she had a clear shot, she ran straight toward the viewing window at the front, shooting it to crack it as she did so. Before Alpha had time to scream at her for her stupidity, Arizona dove through the glass.

"Fuck!" Alpha cried as she burst forward, shards of glass bouncing off her armor. "Right arm, out!" he shouted, and she obeyed as he directed power to the armor around her shoulder.

Her hand wrapped around a knob in the outer surface of the ship and she was able to pull herself toward the hull. Had Alpha not been controlling her armor, she probably would have dislocated her shoulder from the sudden force. As it was, it only hurt momentarily. A pathway lit up on her HUD. "Get as far starboard as you can, now!" Alpha directed.

Arizona ran, grav boots keeping her attached to the hull. The ship was picking up speed, various objects and debris flying off as it entered the atmosphere. The destroyer's shields still functioned well enough to keep Arizona from roasting, but the heat grew uncomfortable nonetheless. Alpha directed her, reactively changing her course as the ship tore apart underneath them.

"Twenty seconds to impact," Alpha warned her. "Shit, shit, shit, I can't find a way to fly us out of here!"

"Is armor lock still online?" Arizona demanded.

"Yeah, but that won't really help us right now!"

"Give me speed." She ran toward the edge of the ship.

"What are you doing?!"

She ignored him as she ran. _Thirteen seconds. Twelve. Eleven. Ten._

_"_ Arizona!"

She jumped.


	21. Partners

No one had received any transmissions from Arizona since Carolina decided to approve her stupid, suicidal mission, but Wash didn't need the radio to know she succeeded.

What was left of the building nearly collapsed on them as an enormous explosion rocked the entire battlefield. Wash instinctively put his hands to his ears, which was pretty pointless considering the helmet, but his audio sensors automatically dulled the sound. The shockwave punched through the air, ripping apart any structures that had been left without proper support. He and Florida braced against each other as debris rained down upon them.

Once the dust settled and they had assured themselves that they were both still alive and not injured further, Florida carefully crawled out of the opening, saying he was going to assess the damage to the building. Wash nodded, keeping a hand on his hip. Though the injury wasn't necessarily any worse, the shockwave certainly hadn't done much to help in the way of pain.

After what Wash decided with scientific accuracy using an algorithmic assessment of their situation was _way too fucking long_ , Florida slipped silently back into their hiding spot. "Well, she definitely hit the munitions compound," was all he said in the way of evaluation.

"Do you…" Wash swallowed. "Do you think anything made it?"

Florida gave him a sidelong glance. "Nothing that was on the ship or in the compound," he said after a moment. "But you know Arizona. She found a way out. She's too stubborn to die."

Wash leaned back, forcing himself to think optimistically. It was a lot easier with Florida's reassuring presence. "Yeah," he said. "You're probably right."

* * *

 

When Arizona opened her eyes, she was met with the sight of a large, domed helmet. She blinked. _Maine?_ But Maine wasn't supposed to be on this mission. Was she back on the _Mother of Invention_? She blinked again, and a few more features came into view. It wasn't Maine's fishbowl visor. Tan armor, green trim…she knew that type of armor. What was it? She knew it, and for some reason, it was vitally important that she remember.

"Locus, hurry it up."

Oh, right! LOCUS class. Relief flooded her as she remembered details about the suit. Resilient armor, good stealth kit. Heavy as fuck, though.

"Be patient."

_'_ _Hey Arizona. You awake?'_

She tried to shake her head to clear it, but couldn't move. Oh, fuck. Did she paralyze herself?

_'_ _Nope. Armor lock. Saved your ass from that fall. Believe it or not, your freaking leap of faith actually worked. You ready for me to release you?'_

Oh. Alpha was talking to her. _Um…yeah. We okay? Why was I unconscious?_

_'_ _I put you under until I could run some scans, make sure you weren't too badly damaged. Didn't want you staggering around in the middle of enemy territory. Not gonna lie, you got a little banged up on the way down. Looks like whatever super healing abilities those Spartan freaks injected you with are working, though. Couple minor fractures, some contusions from the landing, but they should just be bruises and scrapes pretty soon.'_

_Aw, man. I am gonna be so hungry._

She could practically hear Alpha sigh. _'Yeah, okay, I'm gonna give you the lowdown. We crash landed in the middle of the ground battle for Tyumen, which is the city we are supposed to be protecting. We're about two clicks outside the city limits, with extremely limited cover, surrounded by Covs. Mostly Elites, I think, but their cloaking tech is messing with my trackers so I can't be too sure. We were_ lucky _enough to land close to some friendlies, who dragged your sorry ass to what cover they have. No contact from Skittles or MoI, Covs are dropping a shit ton of reinforcements, and we don't have any more guys coming. We're pretty fucking screwed, actually.'_

Arizona considered that information for a moment. _Yup. Gonna be really hungry,_ she concluded.

_'_ _Oh, for the love of…you know what, I'm unlocking your armor. It's gonna hurt like a bitch.'_

_Nothing I can't –_ "Motherfucker!" she cried as Alpha released her armor locks and the pain came flooding in. The soldier in front of her leaned back, surprised.

"Hey, she lives!" Arizona looked around. Another man was crouched nearby, covering them. He was wearing a Scout armor kit, with similar coloring as the soldier in the LOCUS class armor, and holding a battle rifle. He had several fresh mags lined up in front of him, giving him a marginally quicker reload time. Smart, and probably worth it. On the battlefield, marginally quicker could have not-so-marginal significance.

The man in LOCUS armor offered a hand and pulled her to her feet, both of them staying in a crouch to avoid the bullets and energy blasts whizzing over their heads. "Thanks," she muttered, scanning her surroundings as she unclipped her own rifle from her back. With Alpha's help, she was able to push the pain toward her subconscious where it belonged. They were in the middle of a makeshift fortress, hastily constructed from the remains of a bombed out town. Soldiers in tan and green lined the crumbled walls, forming what she assumed was a circle around the area.

"Are you able to fight?" the man in front of her asked.

"Christ, Locus, give her a second to breathe!" his partner snapped before Arizona had a chance to answer. The man, who apparently named himself after his freaking armor class – _'Maybe it's the other way around, maybe he picked his armor based on his name,'_ Alpha suggested with a laugh – growled. Actually growled. _No wonder I thought he was Maine._

"We don't have time –" he started.

"I'm good," Arizona cut him off, raising her rifle and taking a position near the scout. "What are we looking at?"

"The pits of hell," the scout replied, sounding legitimately delighted.

"Oh, perfect, I landed in the right place, then," she replied, and the scout chuckled, tearing an Elite to shreds as he did so. "Hey, you boys happen to see if that Covvie ship hit the ammo dump?"

"Sure did," the scout replied with a snicker. "Holy shit. Too bad you didn't see it. Blew the place to hell. Dropping their own goddamn ship on them," he said with a chuckle. "Fucking beautiful." He suddenly shifted positions, dropping his rifle and lunging forward. A cloaked Elite screamed in pain, camo dropping as the scout's knife lodged in its throat. The scout yanked the knife to the side, tilted his head a little as though examining his prey, and pushed the body back down the fortifications. "I wanna shake the hand of the guy who orchestrated that one," he continued, unfazed.

Arizona laughed. "You just dragged her ass to your fort. Nice reaction time."

The scout looked at her. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, that was fun. Anyway…I gotta find my team. Either of you gents happen to see a technicolor death squad anywhere around here?"

The man in the LOCUS armor had just finished setting up his sniping nest behind the scout. Arizona couldn't help but notice how well they seemed to work together, Locus picking off the distant threats and causing havoc in the enemy ranks while the scout casually ripped apart any aliens that got too close. They clearly trusted one another. It was almost like watching Wash and Maine, just with the positions reversed.

"Oh, are you with those rainbow assholes?" the scout asked, sounding almost disappointed. "Yeah, they aren't too far. Come here, I'll show ya."

"Our orders," Locus growled angrily as the scout backed up, careful to stay behind cover, "are to hold this position."

"Yeah, yeah," the scout replied. He waved a dismissive hand toward his partner. "I won't leave, just showing her where the party is. Come on."

Arizona followed him through the destroyed town, occasionally pausing as they killed a few aliens. They reached the other side with little enough trouble, and the scout pointed across an enormous swath of no-man's land, complete with mine fields and the blown out husks of tanks, both human and alien. "Saw your buddies on the other side of that. They were moving toward the temple; probably protecting the entrance by now. Assuming they weren't running," he added with a smirk. _Great, he's one of those guys that can show a smirk through a helmet._

"If only you knew my CO," Arizona muttered, scanning the area for a good way to cross. _Alpha?_

_'_ _Working on it. Hang on…and…okay, got a pathway. I'll put it on the HUD.'_

_Thanks._

_'_ _Yup. Hey, Arizona, just plowing ahead isn't going to work this time. Your body won't sustain another boosted run.'_

She thought for a moment. _What about the armor enhancement?_

_'_ _What, the hologram thing?'_

_Can you use it?_

_'_ _Uh, I mean, I haven't run any diagnostics or tests or anything. I would be going in blind, and I'm not really supposed to touch it without a supported run on MoI first. But, what the fuck, right? Seems to be the theme of the day. Fuck protocols and all that shit.'_

_Rules don't apply on the battlefield. And 'protocol' is just another way of saying 'rules.'_

_'_ _Yeah, okay, fine. What do you want me to copy?'_

She looked at the scout, who was watching her as though curious if she was really suicidal enough to run across the burned out fields. _What about him?_

 _'_ _Sure. Give me a sec.'_ Arizona could feel an explosion of calculations in the back of her mind and carefully put up a barrier. She would take it back down once Alpha was ready, but her human brain simply wasn't designed to handle the speed at which Alpha was…well, doing whatever he was doing. Something computery that Arizona didn't understand. _'I need him to move around a little, make sure I got this thing right.'_

_What do you need him to do?_

_'_ _Dancing would be good.'_

_Alpha._

_'_ _What? It would give me all the data I need. And it would be pretty hilarious. Don't you want to laugh one more time before we get shredded or vaporized or some shit out there?'_

_Alpha._

_'_ _Okay, yeah, fine, just have time twirl around and move his arms or something.'_

"Hey, McScouty," she said to the other soldier, who had stopped paying attention to her in favor of scanning the ground for any telltale shimmers of a cloaked Elite, "can you do something for me?"

The scout glanced at her and huffed. "My name isn't McScouty," he told her disdainfully.

Arizona shrugged. "Just going with the theme."

He sighed. "I fucking hate Locus. I really do. My name –"

"You see that Warthog over there?" she interrupted, pointing toward a relatively nearby shell of a vehicle. What was left of the Warthog was laying precariously on its side; it should tip back onto its wheels with minimal force. She tossed him a piece of rubble. "Think you can hit it?"

He caught the chunk of concrete. "Why?"

"Because you have a better arm than I do, judging by the knives," she said, tilting her head toward the Florida-like collection on his belt. "And I'm going to use it as cover, but I would rather not get picked off by some freaking Grunt hiding behind it."

McScouty gave a 'what the fuck' sort of shrug and stood just enough to clear his aim. He launched the chunk of concrete at the Warthog, where it bounced off the front with a satisfying _thunk_. The vehicle tipped back onto its wheels. McScouty turned toward her, arms crossed smugly.

"Thanks," she told him. _Got what you need?_ She asked Alpha.

_'_ _Yup. Good thinking.'_

_Couldn't have done it without you._

_'_ _Well, obviously. I'm just saying. My brilliance shines through you well.'_

_Whoever you were copied from must be the most arrogant prick in the freaking galaxy._

Alpha laughed. ' _Oh man, you have no idea.'_

"Whelp, fun as it would be to watch you blow yourself up," the scout said, backing away from the wall, "I think I'm going to go kill some aliens. Best of luck, Reconnie McGee."

Arizona looked at him. "My name –"

"Just going with the theme," he interrupted her. She couldn't help but chuckle a little as he retraced his steps back toward his partner.

_Ready to test that equipment?_

The armor enhancement tucked in the panels on her back hummed, and a projection of the scout appeared next to her. It flickered a little as Alpha made the necessary adjustments, twirling the hologram around and mimicking a knife-throwing motion. _'Hey, stick your hand through it,'_ Alpha told her. She complied. The hologram flickered, but didn't disappear. _'Okay, we're ready to go. Follow the path and you might actually stay alive.'_

She hopped over the side of the wall and slid down an embankment, the scout hologram following close behind. It wasn't perfect; she could see the occasional flicker, and the feet floated just above the surface of the rocks, but from a distance it would look just like another person. Alpha laid out the pathway in her HUD, adjusting it as he encountered new data. Every time Arizona took cover, Alpha sent the hologram out first to test for enemy fire while she looted any nearby bodies for supplies and ammo.

It was a good thing, too. The McScouty hologram absorbed several sets of bullets or energy blasts a few times. Alpha did a good job of making the show convincing; the hologram sank to its knees, then struggled back to its feet to aim at the aliens. Not that it could actually shoot bullets, but it gave them a good read on how many enemies there were and exactly where they were hiding. The hologram took the fire, and once Arizona had her targets pinpointed, she took them out.

 _'_ _Huh. That's interesting. I'm getting a reading on two friendlies nearby.'_ Alpha told her as she crouched behind a tank while the hologram moved in a convincingly cautious style toward her next point of cover.

Arizona frowned as she turned over the body of a medic, taking his kit and his medical…scanner…thing. How had she been a soldier for so long and never learned the proper name for it? She tucked the kit and the scanner away and turned her attention back to her AI. _Universal channel?_

_'_ _No…actually, I think these guys are with Freelancer.'_

_Soldiers?_ Unless Locus and McScouty were wrong (which, admittedly, was a definite possibility), the Freelancer Agents were supposed to be guarding a temple. Unless the temple was under a burned out field, the friendlies were probably soldiers that had been stranded.

_'_ _Can't tell. I only get an I.D. if the person chooses to broadcast it.'_

_Can we get to them?_

_'_ _Yeah, if you want to.'_

_I do._

_'_ _Okay. There's your new path. Might want to run, there's not a lot of cover.'_

Arizona waited until Alpha's signal, then ran along the lit pathway. He was right about the cover; halfway through, the hologram absorbed a full clip of purple spikes. Arizona was able to kill the offenders before she was hit, moving the whole time. The hologram flickered out of existence as she exited the maximum range, only to appear ten yards ahead of her again.

 _'_ _Enemy aircraft inbound. If you wanna rescue these guys, we gotta do it fast. Looks like the reading is coming from just underground.'_ Alpha paused for a moment, sifting through the onslaught of data. _'You know, I think these guys actually are Freelancers. Or, at least one of them. Scans show an armor enhancement.'_

He stopped talking as a Banshee shrieked overhead, targeting Arizona rather than the hologram. She ran, barely avoiding the fire. _'There, there!'_ Alpha shouted, directing her toward an unassuming opening at the base of pile of rubble.

Arizona dove into the opening, only to find herself staring down the business end of a battle rifle. She felt a combat knife press threateningly across the back of her neck at the same time. _Alpha said they were Freelancers._ "Easy there, guys," she said, holding up her hands innocently and being careful not to make any sudden movements. Her 'friends' were highly trained, jumpy operatives stranded in the middle of a battle, after all. "Miss me?"

"Zo?" The rifle dropped, but the knife didn't. She adjusted her visor to compensate for the low light.

"Hey, Wash," she said happily in response to the familiar voice. "And I'm assuming the one about to cut my spine out is Florida?"

The knife disappeared. "Well, I'll be. Welcome back, Arizona."

She looked around. The hole was nothing special, and certainly not a secret entrance to some underground temple. It just looked like a storage basement. Well, what was left of a basement. "Nice place you've got here. Where's everyone else?"

Wash was staring at her, mouth probably open judging from his stiff, shocked body language, so Florida answered instead. "Guarding the temple," he said as he moved around Arizona and collapsed next to Wash. He had a hand over his side just below his ribcage, as though in pain.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, kneeling in front of him and grabbing the medical scanner off her back. She looked down at it for a moment, realizing she had no idea how it worked. _'Just pull the trigger, info will show up in the HUD,'_ Alpha told her.

"Zo!" Wash exclaimed suddenly. _Hey, look at that. His brain caught up._ "What…how…?"

"I jumped," she said simply, studying the younger man. He was sitting strangely, as though trying to keep his weight off… "Holy shit," she said, eyes finding the reason for his discomfort. "Was that from the Warthog?" she asked, gesturing to his hip.

He nodded. "Wyoming is a terrible driver," he told her emphatically, as though it was critical that she understood that information.

"We hit a grenade," Florida reminded him gently. Arizona pointed the scanner at Florida and pulled the trigger, blinking as a barrage of unfamiliar information lit up in her HUD.

"Yeah, but you know what Wyoming didn't hit? The brakes."

_Alpha, can you help me with this?_

_'_ _Uh, yeah. Three bullet wounds, although it looks like they are already healing pretty well. Signatures reminiscent of a four-day-old wound, minimal internal and external bleeding, low level cauterization in effect…'_

_What do I need to do?_

Alpha pulled up a different screen for her, detailing the possible treatments depending on circumstances and available supplies. _'Looks like some painkillers and a stim are your best options right now. You need to use a slightly different stim from the ones in your suit, though. Should be some in that kit you grabbed.'_

 _Okay._ She opened the medical kit and dug through the supplies, pulling out two injectors. She looked up at Florida. "These will help," she told him, holding out the syringes. "Do you need me to do it?" Florida shook his head, taking the injectors and carefully removing his gauntlet. Arizona turned her attention to Wash. "So what happened? Where's the rest of the team?"

After administering his medications, Florida left to guard the opening, a little unsteady on his feet, leaving Arizona to treat Wash. She only half-listened as Wash explained the situation, more focused on the information being sent to her HUD from the scanner. Two ribs were fully broken, and five had fractures of varying severity. While there was currently no internal bleeding, he had suffered a contusion on his upper liver and his intercostal muscles were torn. The worst part was his hip, though. It was fully dislocated. Both his left femur and left iliac were fractured, though neither were fully broken, and the surrounding muscle tissue was damaged.

 _'_ _He's not doing so good,'_ Alpha said suddenly, alarmed.

_Yeah, you think?_

_'_ _No, I mean…here, just look.'_ He pulled up another set of information in her HUD. Heartrate highly elevated, falling blood pressure, hyperventilation, dehydration… _'He's going into shock.'_

_Shit. What do I do?_

_'_ _Vasopressors first. And you have to do something about the hip, before the swelling gets too bad. Otherwise he might lose the leg,'_ Alpha told her, processing the information much more quickly than she could. _'Here. This will show you how to push it back into place. I can help you get his armor in partial lock once it's done.'_

 _Uh…shouldn't someone else do that?_ She asked hesitantly. _Like…a medic? Or a doctor?_

 _'_ _Where the hell do you think medics get their instructions?'_ Arizona looked down at the scanner, then back at the video Alpha had loaded into her HUD.

_Are you telling me that medics are just running around watching videos of how to fix people?_

_'_ _Well, I mean, they have prior training and everything. But…I guess…yeah, that's essentially what they're doing.'_

_Remind me to never trust a medic._

_'_ _Duly noted. You gonna fix your buddy now or keep whining?'_

Arizona sighed and skimmed through the recommended medical supplies to complete the procedure. Of the long list, she only had the painkillers and vasopressors. _Figures._ She took off Wash's gauntlet and prepared the proper injectors.

"What's this?"

"Painkillers," she said as she pulled the Kevlar suit away and injected him at the proper point. While she waited to see if he would need a second dose, she watched the video. _Oh god, this is not going to be fun._ At least the instructions were clear. It was a step-by-step tutorial, which paused at the correct places to allow the viewing medic (or in this case, woefully underqualified Freelancer) to complete the procedure in real time. Wash leaned back weakly as she finished watching the video all the way through. His vitals looked marginally better.

 _Here goes nothing._ She restarted the video and placed her hands on either side of Wash's hip joint.

"Woah," Wash asked, his voice already a little slow and slurred from the painkillers. Or maybe from the shock. "Don't you think you should buy me dinner first?"

"Tell you what," she said as she watched the positioning, and okay, she was going to have to stay pretty uncomfortably close to the groin. But it's not like she could just leave Wash with his hip busted up. "There's a really nice restaurant on Iona. Real classy, black-tie kind of thing. When we get out of this, I'll take you there and buy you the whole five-course meal." _Find the head of the femur and push back gently._

"Ow," Wash told her weakly. She winced in sympathy. "You know," he told her, clearly trying to distract himself, "I don't really do fancy."

"Yeah?" _Keep pressure downward and pull the leg up at the knee._ Wash hissed in pain and instinctively grabbed her arm, but she held steady. "Alright then. What's your ideal dinner?"

"Pizza," he said after a moment. "Really greasy. Kind that will stop your heart just by looking at it."

"I've never had it," she told him. _Continue to rotate the femur back and forth until the head is realigned with the socket._ Wash whimpered a little. "So," she continued, trying to keep him distracted. Alpha was pressing gently on her motor cortex, helping her to keep her hands steady. "Next shore leave, we'll get pizza."

"Okay," Wash replied, his voice simultaneously strained and weak. "Shore leave. You, me, and Maine. We'll get a whole pizza each. Maybe two." He paused and leaned his head back, though with his helmet on, Arizona couldn't see his expression. "Hey, Florida," he called out softly.

"Yeah?"

"Think you could eat a whole pizza by yourself?"

"Not as fast as you could, buddy."

Wash seemed to consider that information. _Once the head is realigned, push with equal pressure on either side of the femur head._ "We should have a contest," he decided. "OW!" he cried as Arizona pushed. He instinctively leaned forward. She quickly shifted her body so that her shoulder hit his chest, preventing him from moving farther. He whimpered again.

"I know, Wash, I know," she told him softly, grimacing in sympathy. "But you want to keep your leg, right? Hang on, bud, I'm almost done. Almost there."

 _'_ _Hey, I'm going to go into his implants for just a second to lock his armor,'_ Alpha told her. _'It's…uh…probably going to feel weird for you. But it will be quick, okay? I promise.'_

_Go ahead._

She could feel the moment Alpha left. Her mind felt suddenly empty, frighteningly empty, as though an enormous cavern had opened up at the center. The quiet was almost unbearable, the soft whispers and constant calculations and comforting presence of another mind gone.

And just as suddenly, the silence was shattered. Six voices screamed out, six personalities surged forward, clawing at one another and competing not only for control, but for _space_ , for room to breathe, because there wasn't enough room in this single head for six of them, and there was so much pressure and she was going to explode and she needed to put a bullet in the side of her head to let them out it was too much there were too many voice it was too much too many toomuchtoomuchtoomuch–

 _'_ _You're okay,'_ Alpha told her, and she sat back with a small gasp. _'You're okay. You're okay,'_ he repeated, slipping easily back into place, soothing the aspects and realigning their connections.

"Zo? Are you okay?"

Arizona didn't answer. She took a few deep breathes, mentally clinging to Alpha. He didn't push her away. "I'm okay," he answered, and it took her a moment to realize that he had used her voice. He wasn't in complete control of her body, but he was wrapped tightly enough into her brain that he was able to speak using her vocal cords.

She didn't care. He was back, and that was all that mattered. _I'm broken,_ she realized. Completely broken. The aspects had totally separated into their own personalities. Alpha wasn't just allowing her to function normally. He was keeping her alive.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

That wasn't Wash's voice. _'Tell them you got shocked when you locked Wash's armor,_ ' Alpha supplied for her. She numbly repeated his words out loud, not really paying attention to if they were true. _I'm completely broken._

"We should get to the temple," she said suddenly, standing up. She had to get out of this hole, it was too tight, too confined, there were too many of them in here and if she stayed in here something terrible would happen, they would be crushed or suffocated.

"Zo? Where are you going?" Florida asked.

 _You can't leave without them. They can't walk. They're injured._ "Finding a vehicle," she told them, not realizing she had a plan until she had spoken it aloud. It made sense, though. Find a vehicle. Find the rest of the team. It didn't matter if she was broken. They had a job. They had a mission.

"Not a Warthog," Wash said weakly, and despite everything, Arizona cracked a smile.


	22. A Couple of Bugs

Carolina frowned a little as she listened to the new orders. Apparently the Covs were about to carpet bomb the whole place – not glass it, luckily, they were too frightened of damaging the temple – but the blast would destroy the defenses they had set around the outside of the temple. With those gone, there was no way the remaining human soldiers would be able to hold off the Covenant for long.

"York," she said once the orders were finished, "get to the inner sanctum and help them figure out how to close these doors."

He nodded and jogged away, and Carolina would be lying if she said she wasn't a little happy to see him go. York would be safer dealing with the ancient alien locks, rather than sitting with the rest of them. She watched him as he left, surveying the scene around her.

The temple was deceptively large, with a good deal of it built underground. There were only three entrances. Her team was leading the defense on one entrance, with Spartan teams on the other two. Civilians and supplies still flowed through all three entrances, and at the moment about half the soldiers under her command were in charge of simply moving the new arrivals through, keeping a clear line of sight for the Freelancers picking off any Covs that got too close.

They weren't in good shape. Carolina felt more and more that leaving Wash and Florida behind had been a mistake. She had managed to get in contact with them, but the connection had been spotty, and she wasn't sure she had conveyed the message that they needed to get the hell off the open field. The farther into the temple she went, the worse the connection became. She was more than half tempted to grab a vehicle and ride out to them herself, but it was a fools' errand. Wash, despite his childish personality, had a phenomenal record fighting the Covs prior to his service in the Project. And Florida was more than capable of handling himself. They would be okay on their own. Besides, the rest of her team still needed her.

 _The rest of the team._ That was its own little shit show. By the time they had fought their way to the temple, both North and South had sustained injuries. C.T., Georgia, and York had all been hit while defending the entrance, but since none of the injuries were life-threatening, Carolina had to order them to keep fighting. She didn't like it, but with the enemy moving closer with each moment, they didn't have much of a choice.

They had caught a break when the CPV destroyer crashed into the munitions dump. More than a break, really; without the crash and the subsequent chaos among the enemy ranks, not to mention the loss of the Covenant ground staging center, half the humans currently in the temple never would have made it out of the city. And it meant the enemy had to prepare their bombing runs from space, rather than from the ground, and using their own ammo.

Carolina had trouble celebrating, though. There was no way Arizona survived the crash.

She hadn't known the newest Freelancer very well. Arizona seemed to spend most of her time with the members of the team Carolina saw the least; primarily Florida and Maine. Washington didn't count; he was friends with everyone. But Arizona had been dedicated, resourceful, and a good fighter when she decided she wanted to be.

 _Spartan-III's are suicide soldiers,_ she reminded herself. Though she had reprimanded Arizona for mentioning her enrollment in the Spartan program, Carolina was suddenly glad the woman had been so open about her past. There was a difference between Freelancers and Spartans. Spartans themselves weren't experimental, not anymore. They were perfect soldiers, trained and augmented for the specific purpose of dying for the war. They were _supposed_ to do what Arizona did, _supposed_ to take on suicidal missions with a high payout. Freelancers were test subjects for creating better technology. They were supposed to find ways _not_ to die.

It made it marginally easier, to think of Arizona as a transferred Spartan, rather than a Freelancer. The team had already lost Delaware, and by extension, they may have lost Georgia. She wasn't sure she could handle losing anyone else on this mission.

Carolina knew herself. She knew she would blame herself for their losses, would transfer her energy into making herself better, making sure she never lost anyone else. But she also knew she was already the best. The room for improvement was her own to make, but right now, she needed to lead her team. Because they were, by right, _her_ team.

So she continued laying down cover fire for the civilians, continued barking orders to Freelancers and soldiers alike, continued to survey the battlefield as a commander and not as a friend. She reprimanded South for making fun of Wyoming, tried not to look too hard for the appearance of a blue ODST helmet or grey and yellow Mark VI armor, and forced herself to behave like the leader she was.

* * *

"I told you…one thing," Wash murmured as Arizona helped him climb out of their makeshift bunker and toward the one working, upright vehicle she had been able to find; a Warthog. He was at least able to support most of his own weight on his legs, but he was still weak and clearly in pain. "One…fucking…thing."

"Can it," Arizona cut him off harshly, scanning the sky for the inevitable arrival of Banshees. "We don't have that far to go. I need you to focus, Wash." _Eyes on the skies, Alpha._

_'_ _You know, technically, I don't have eyes. I can see my surroundings through a combination of –'_

_You can just can it, too._ She helped Wash into the passenger seat, trying to surreptitiously study Florida sitting in the driver's seat. It was a lost cause; Florida saw everything.

"I'll be just fine," he reassured her calmly. "You're the only one of us who can stand at the gun anyway. Just keep the Covs off our back, okay?"

She bit the inside of her lip, but nodded. Florida was incredibly reassuring for the creepy psycho that he truly was. _Just glad he's on our side._ Once she was certain Wash wouldn't fall out of the jeep in the event of an unexpected roll, she took her place at the gun and worked on clearing a path.

"So what did Carolina say?" she asked as she lined up her sights with the approaching Banshee. It would be within range in a few seconds, according to Alpha.

"It wasn't clear," Florida replied. He paused as the enemy vessel got close enough for her to hit. She kept firing until it fell out of the sky, then swiveled the gun around to search for any more Covs. "But my understanding is that the Covs are going to try a carpet bomb."

"Where are they staging from?"

"Space, if I had to guess," he replied. Both him and Wash let out low hisses as they hit a particularly jarring bump. Wash was being oddly quiet, but Arizona suspected it was because of his damaged ribcage. She hoped it was just that.

"Explains why everyone abandoned their posts," Arizona muttered, more to herself than to the men in the front. She didn't particularly care about the conversation itself; she was half focused on watching for enemy aircraft and half on keeping Florida from passing out at the wheel.

"It sure does," Florida replied, voice calm. While Arizona had been out in the fields searching for a vehicle, the squads posted in defensive positions outside the temple had started retreating. They were between the rearguard and the temple, so there weren't many enemy ground troops, but the number of Banshees had increased significantly.

_How far are we from the temple?_

_'_ _Be there in five minutes, assuming Florida doesn't flip us ass over head.'_

_That…isn't a saying._

_'_ _Psh. Is now.'_

_Um. I don't think that's how it works._

_'_ _Heads up, two and eight.'_ Alpha paused to let Arizona concentrate on shooting down her enemies. _'It'll catch on. Ass over head. Sounds good.'_

_It sounds like a fucking sex act._

_'_ _I mean, aren't all sex acts technically 'fucking' sex acts? Like…hey, pilot didn't die from that last crash, take him out…but, like, how did something as objectively awesome as fucking turn into a curse word? Was it some dude who had a really hot, really bitchy girlfriend…?'_ Even as he lit up targets on her HUD, Alpha continued to talk. _'Because I can understand that. I've got this girl…well, I guess she's also an AI, but she's got that kind of personality, you know? I remember, when she first…'_

Arizona had trained for a lot of different, very specific scenarios. How to plant a nuke on the central engine of an enemy ship, how to climb up an elevator shaft against the vacuum of space, how to rig various alien crafts to respond to a human touch. But she was pretty sure nothing had quite prepared her for trying to shoot down Covs while a four-month-old AI chatted away in her head about origins of curse words and their relations to various sex acts. It was, to say the least, distracting. _Alpha. Focus._

 _'_ _I am extremely focused,'_ he replied coolly. _'Just not on what you want me to focus on.'_

_Mainly because I don't even want to know how an AI seems to know more about sex than I do. Also, I don't particularly want to die out here. Saving it for a blaze of glory, you know?_

_'_ _Well, you're two and a half minutes out. Should be…oh. Huh. That's bad.'_

_What's bad?_

_'_ _That'll fuck this up real quick…'_

_ALPHA._

But before the AI had time to respond, Wash piped up. "Scarabs inbound."

 _Shit._ "Where?" she asked, swiveling the gun around. "Oh. Never mind. Eyes on the target." Two Scarabs were approaching the temple. The colossal moving fortresses were closer to the temple than the Warthog, but they were also slower. "We should be able to make it before they do."

"Assuming…they don't shoot us," Wash huffed out, raising his rifle to point at the Scarabs as though it could possibly do any good.

"Doubt they would waste the time. We aren't a threat." _Alpha, any ideas for taking this thing down?_

 _'_ _Weak points are the legs and the power core in the center. No firepower you have right now is going to do any damage to the legs, and you would have to be onboard to reach the power core. You're right; we're not a threat to them.'_ He paused. _'And before you ask, no, you do not have enough power left in your suit to get onboard. It was drained from the ship and the hologram, and I'm using what we've regenerated to keep you alive.'_

_It's like you're reading my mind._

_'_ _Ha ha. Tell Florida to go faster, or they might notice you and decide you_ are _worth their time.'_

She relayed the message to Florida, who increased the speed (and, as Wash helpfully pointed out, the bumpiness) accordingly. Arizona held on tightly, keeping herself in a crouch and doing everything in her power not to get thrown out the back.

As they drew nearer to the temple, Wash pushed himself higher in his seat, using the sights on his rifle to look around. "Oh no," he muttered, so softly that Arizona almost didn't hear it over the radio.

"Wash? What's up?"

He shifted again, carelessly undoing Arizona's previous hard work in situating him in a secure position. "There are still civilians…on the outside." _Still having trouble breathing._ He put his rifle down to look between Arizona and Florida. "We can't let…those things…get close. They'll kill everyone!"

"We don't have enough firepower, Wash," Arizona replied. "Besides, you're both injured. Best we can do is try to get to a good defensive position and make a plan from there. To take one of those down, you would need something highly explosive. A bomb or…"

"Or an engine," Florida said suddenly. He slammed on the breaks, nearly throwing both Wash and Arizona over the windshield, and looked at both of them.

_Alpha?_

_'_ _Yeah, making the calculations now,'_ he replied in a resigned voice, as though he had finally accepted that arguing wasn't going to do him any good. _'You won't be able to take both of them out with one hit. Someone is going to have to get onboard the second Scarab and destroy the power core.'_

Arizona switched to a private channel between herself and Florida. "Wash isn't going to be able to do this. He can still barely stand on his own. You're not in good shape, either."

Florida tilted his head to the side, thinking. "I'm actually feeling much better. Healing unit worked wonders." He paused. "Wash is right. It's our duty to protect those civilians."

"He's a kid, Florida. I'm not killing a kid. Dump him as close to the entrance as possible. You and I can take the Scarabs." She sighed. _Blaze of glory._ "I'm getting too old for this war, anyway."

"You and me both."

_'_ _If you want to get Wash anywhere near the entrance, you are going to have to go now.'_

"Okay," Arizona said, switching back to their open comms. "We'll figure something out. Florida?"

"On it." Florida gunned it toward the temple, interrupting Wash as he started protesting over the lack of a plan. Arizona didn't even bother trying to shoot anything; they were going too quickly for her to be accurate, and the terrain was too uneven to try to aim anyway.

Florida got them within a few hundred yards of the temple entrance when Alpha warned Arizona that they had to turn now, else the Scarabs get close enough to start shooting. Arizona relayed the message to Florida on the private channel, leaned forward to hook her arms under Wash's, and pulled them both out of the Warthog before Wash could react. They rolled, Arizona trying to protect Wash as much as she could, before coming to a stop in the middle of the dust and rocks.

"What the hell, Zo?" Wash exclaimed, coughing a little.

"Sorry, kiddo," she said, standing as Florida brought the Warthog back around. "Get to the temple. This trip is for the grownups."

Wash managed to cry out "wait!" and make a grab for her, but Arizona was too quick. She latched onto the Warthog as it passed and hauled herself in, crouching in shotgun as she glanced back toward Wash. He stared at them for half a second before seeming to realize that there was nothing he could do, and started moving toward the temple. His limp was pronounced, but he was able to walk. _Thank god._

Once she was certain Wash wasn't going to do something stupid, she turned her attention to Florida. "You sure you're up for this? You can still bail."

Florida chuckled. "I think I can protect my team better out here. And I don't mind the company."

Arizona shrugged and clambered over the back of the seats to man the gun. "We can immobilize one Scarab by crashing the Warthog into a leg joint," she told him. "But to actually destroy it we will have to board and take out the power core. I don't know what we're going to do about the second one."

"One enemy at a time," Florida said. "Be a dear and grab me a good size rock, would you?"

"A rock?"

"Jam the accelerator."

Oh. That made sense. _Alpha, can you help me pick one?_

_'_ _You just like stretching my processors, don't you?'_

_I mean, if you can't do it–_

_'_ _I can do it,'_ he cut her off indignantly. _'I'm just saying. Maybe show some appreciation for how much I'm handling here.'_

She rolled her eyes as Alpha lit up a few potential targets. Careful to keep her balance, she leaned over the edge of the Warthog and grabbed one of the rocks as they sped by. The weight and force nearly sent her careening off the back, but Alpha adjusted the power in her suit and helped her hold on. She heaved the rock up and plunked it next to Florida.

"Approaching the target," he called as they skidded around a hill and both Scarabs came into full view. The cannons on the front were both crackling with blue energy, preparing to fire. Florida grabbed the rock and pushed it into the foot well, pulling his legs up underneath him and crouching on the seat.

 _'_ _Follow this line and lock the steering,'_ Alpha said, lighting up a pathway in her HUD. _'It will launch the Warthog into the front left leg joint.'_

 _Got it._ Arizona relayed the directions to Florida, sending the data points to him as she did so. He adjusted the steering and grabbed one of the longer knives off his back, jamming it into the wheel to lock its position. He climbed up next to Arizona as they drew near the Scarabs.

"Ready?" he asked, putting one foot on top of the shoulder rest on the gun in preparation to launch himself.

"On my mark," she replied, mirroring his motions on the opposite shoulder rest. They held each other's shoulder to keep steady.

_'_ _Three…two…one…'_

"Mark!" Arizona shouted as the Warthog launched off a hill and toward the Scarab at full speed. They jumped together, rolling onto the deck. Florida grabbed a support beam and whipped them around behind the outer shell, protecting them from the explosion of the Warthog.

The Scarab buckled and tipped dangerously to the side, sending several Covenant soldiers flying off the edge. Florida held Arizona around the waist with one arm and onto a beam with the other, keeping them both secure as their feet slipped off the ground and dangled uselessly in the air. Arizona, in turn, fired at any Covs that came within her line of sight, protecting Florida with her body as she did so.

After a moment, the Scarab righted itself, but its forward movement was slowed. Cov soldiers were shouting at each other, grunts and blargs and honks mixed together with ominous creaking and popping from the front of the moving fortress. Arizona and Florida dropped back toward the ground, both landing in a crouch.

"You good?" Florida asked, pulling his rifle off his back.

"Yeah. You?"

"Never better."

 _'_ _Except, you know, the series of bullet wounds he'll hauling around,'_ Alpha pointed out helpfully.

Arizona ignored him as Florida moved up to take point. She followed, walking half-backwards. Together, they blasted through any Covenant that stood in their way. A number of the soldiers were still reeling from the explosion, and were caught by surprise. They made it to the power core with surprising ease.

Florida pulled several grenades off his belt as Arizona stood guard. "Ready to trigger," he told her. He paused and looked toward her. "I…may need a bit of assistance clearing the area in time."

"You got it," Arizona told him. An Elite ran around the corner, needler held ready. Arizona emptied the rest of her clip into its face before it could pull the trigger. She tucked the rifle onto her back and grabbed the needler; it was lighter, and she would need one arm free to help Florida. "Do it now."

Florida pulled the grenade pins off in quick succession and jumped back. Arizona looped one arm around his waist and pulled them both forward. They ran toward the outside of the Scarab, Arizona shooting a few Covs as they did so. She didn't bother finishing them off. _Almost there._

The grenades went off and the power core exploded, sending a shock wave through the Scarab. _'Jump!'_ Alpha cried.

Arizona obeyed, dragging Florida with her. They launched out of an opening in the shell and fell toward the ground, rolling down a burned hill. Arizona curled into a protective ball as the Scarab hissed and blew to pieces behind them. When she could no longer hear debris falling around her, she looked up.

_'_ _Holy shit. I can't believe that worked!'_

_Wait. Really? But they were your calculations!_

_'_ _Well, yeah, those were right. I just figured you guys would mess it up somewhere along the way.'_

_You're a real charmer, you know that?_ "Florida? You alright?"

Next to her, Florida pulled his helmet off to shake some of the dirt out of it. "You're quite fond of jumping off exploding things, aren't you?" he asked, but he was grinning widely.

She laughed. "It is becoming a bit of a habit," she said as he clicked his helmet back into place. His hands were shaking slightly. _He's still wounded._ "Maybe you should sit the next one out," she suggested.

Florida pointed at the other Scarab. "I think we can both sit it out," he said. She followed his gaze.

Several tan and green soldiers were climbing up the legs of the second Scarab. One soldier was already on the deck, moving in a whirlwind of blades as he cleared an area for the rest of his squad to board. Precise sniper fire covered his movements, picking off any Covenant that were too far away from him to attack. Arizona watched as he ducked under the arm of an Elite and pushed it off the edge with a single well-place blow. He turned to scan the ground below, and his gaze seemed to fall on Arizona and Florida.

_'_ _Wait…is that a scout helmet?'_

The soldier gave a two finger wave at her and bowed, throwing a knife into the next of Grunt that came up behind him at the same time. "No way. It's fucking McScouty."

Florida glanced at her. "You know him?"

"Not really. Pulled me to cover when I landed. Seems like a good soldier though." They watched as the remainder of the squad boarded the Scarab, still protected by sniper fire. One by one, they entered the protective shell and disappeared from view.

Florida was glancing between the Scarab and the city. "If they don't take it down soon…" he started.

But before he could finish, the soldiers started pouring out of the Scarab and clambering back down the legs. The scout exited last, shot a thumbs-up to someone Arizona couldn't see, and leapt toward the ground himself. The moment he was clear, the Scarab exploded.

"Huh. That sure worked." Arizona looked at Florida. "Think they'll give us a ride?"

Florida chuckled, but it was weak. Arizona pulled out the scanner, ignoring Florida's protests that he was going to be alright. _'Nothing life-threatening,'_ Alpha said, interpreting the data for her, _'but yeah, you need to find him a ride. Doubt he'll be able to walk back, and the Covenant are approaching fast.'_ Arizona stepped forward and put Florida's arm over her shoulder, supporting some of his weight. He was taller than her, but only by a few inches, so it worked much better than when she was trying to support Wash. "Okay. Let's find a way out of here."

As if on cue, two Mongooses pulled up next to them. "Hey there, Recon," said a familiar, cocky voice. "Enjoying the show?"

"Psh. Did you see ours? We got two explosions," she told McScouty. She looked between him and the other soldier. Locus, the sniper. "Hey. Trade you some cover fire for a ride?"

Locus nodded toward McScouty, who hopped off his Mongoose and settled onto the back of his partner's, taking the extra rifle off the side. "All yours," the scout said breezily, waving toward the second Mongoose. "Property of the UNSC, so I don't really give a shit if you crash."

"Good to see your just as much of an asshole as when I left," Arizona responded as she and Florida hobbled toward the offering. Florida climbed into the gunner position, shaking visibly.

"Damn. Your technicolor death squad looks like shit," he said in response. "Thought you guys were supposed to be special forces or something."

Florida flashed him a thumbs-up, then followed it with the finger. He didn't bother looking toward the other soldier. Arizona stared for a moment before she burst out laughing at the unexpected gesture.

"We have to go," Locus growled, exasperated. "The rest of the squad is already moving. Stay close."

"Yeah, this guy will leave you behind without a second thought," MsScouty said assuredly, jabbing his finger toward his partner. "Our channel is Sierra-November 55." He waited as they set their radio channels. "Comm check."

"Check," Arizona replied.

"Check," Florida confirmed.

Locus didn't wait any longer. He accelerated away. Arizona checked one more time with Florida to make sure he was secure before following suit. "Thanks again for the ride," she said. "Name is Zo, by the way."

"Name, or codename?" the scout asked, keeping his gun pointed toward a few approaching Banshees.

"Does it matter?"

"Guess not. But I think I like Reconnie better. Has a nice ring to it."

Arizona tightened her grip as they entered a rock field, keeping an eye on Florida's bios in the corner of her HUD. "Should I keep calling you McScouty, then?"

He snorted. "Fuck that. Name's Felix."

"Nice to meet you, Felix."


	23. On the Outside Looking In

Agent Carolina had been surrounded by madness her entire life.

She had been a Freelancer since the start of the Project – since before the start, really. She fought alongside emotionless Spartans, jovial assassins, snipers and killers and criminals who were all given new life by the opportunities of war. Some were soldiers. Some were murders. Some were survivors. A very select few were even heroes, but heroes didn't last long.

Yes, she knew madness well. She knew the unpredictability of war, unmatched only by the unpredictability of man.

So wasn't terribly surprised when a Warthog spat Wash out a few hundred yards from their position and left him to hobble into the temple. (Not that he hobbled far – she and Wisconsin were running out within seconds to help him.) Wash was a survivor.

She wasn't even all that surprised when Wash told them what happened, told them that Arizona had survived and that she and Florida were going to try to stop a couple Scarabs on their own. She told herself the sudden tightness in her chest at the news was simply a result of not realizing there were nearby Scarabs. Florida could take care of himself, and apparently Arizona was a goddamn cockroach. They would be okay.

And when a fleet of Mongooses zipped through the temple entrance and a scout on the back of the last one waved to her and called a cheerful "Banshees incoming!" she wasn't fazed. She simply barked a few orders and grabbed a rocket launcher, crouching at the ready. She watched as the enemy ships approached, lining up her sites and figuring out how to take down multiple aircraft with one rocket.

She hardly even blinked when one final Mongoose out on the field launched into the sky and crashed into two of the Banshees, flinging a green and a blue soldier through the entrance to skid halfway down their kill chute.

No, Agent Carolina had become too accustomed to madness to do much more than sigh and accept the strange turn of events. After firing both the rockets and taking down four Banshees in the process, she tossed the empty launcher to C.T. and went to check on her two newly arrived teammates.

And that's when she got her first real surprise in a long, long time.

"…swear, if you crash one more fucking vehicle or decide to jump off something _one more goddamn time,_ I will cut through the cartilage in every single one of your fucking joints and _pull your fucking bones out through the holes!_ "

Carolina blinked. The blue soldier had the green one pinned to the floor, and he was holding two knives against the front of her neck. That…wasn't right. That didn't match the optimistic, almost abhorrently sunshiny personality she knew so very well. "Florida?"

The blue soldier sat back and pulled one of the knives away, but still kept the green one pinned. "Agent Carolina!" he said happily. "My, you have really set up some solid defenses here!"

Carolina took a step forward cautiously. Had she just witnessed Florida's snapping point? "Arizona?"

"Help me," the green soldier squeaked, holding her hands in front of her face as though she could possibly do anything to stop Florida from killing her where she lay.

Florida turned back toward her, and Carolina briefly wondered if her speed boost would be enough to save Arizona. But Florida simply patted her helmet over her cheek, chirped, "no more jumping!" and left to join Wyoming.

Carolina approached Arizona and held out a hand. The other agent took it shakily and stood. "You certainly managed to piss him off," Carolina commented casually, pulling Arizona's bios up on her HUD. High heartrate, but everything else looked normal enough. No life-threatening injuries or major blood loss, anyway. Neural readings were all over the map, but that was standard for Arizona.

"Yeah," Arizona replied, voice a little higher than usual. "Remind me not to do that again."

Carolina glanced over her shoulder at the smoldering pile that had so recently been a Mongoose and a Banshee. "I take it that's not your second crash today?"

Arizona didn't answer right away. "Crashing shit _is_ an effective strategy," she grumbled after a moment, although it almost didn't seem like the words were directed at Carolina. "Did Wash make it back okay?" she added, standing up a little straighter and looking around at the Freelancers tucked into the defensive barricades just inside the temple.

 _She's acting strangely._ Arizona was usually either distant or abrasive, at least around Carolina. But Carolina couldn't detect anything sinister behind the shorter agent's worried movements. It seemed like she was genuinely concerned. _Maybe she's finally becoming a Freelancer._

 _Well dammit, she better not die now._ "He's fine. Told me you patched him up. You must have done something right, because he can walk now."

"Oh, right!" Arizona said, which wasn't the response Carolina expected. "That reminds me. Here." She unclipped something from the mag strip on her hip and held it out. Carolina took it. It was a medical scanner, the type carried by medics. "We dropped the kit somewhere along the way," she added apologetically. "But that thing will tell you how to treat pretty much any injury. How are we doing on supplies?"

Carolina watched as C.T. reloaded the rocket launcher and took out one more Banshee. The rest of the Covs seemed to get the idea and backed away from the entrance. Definitely restrategizing, but at least it gave them some time. "We're doing well enough on ammo. Med kits are running low." She scowled. "Food's a problem. We've got a box of stims, but that won't do much good without some real sustenance."

Arizona seemed to perk up. "Told you so," she muttered under her breath, so softly that Carolina almost didn't catch it. She reached into her backup mag pockets and pulled out a handful of…

"Ration bars?" Carolina asked, torn between incredulity and gratefulness. "Agent Arizona, that space is intended for ammunition storage."

"And you're the one telling me we've got more shit to load into our guns than into our soldiers." Ah. There was the abrasive attitude. A little colder and more calculated than South, but no less irritating. More irritating, if anything. Carolina knew how to deal with fiery, having a similar attitude herself.

But she still took the offering. Regardless of the source, they _needed_ something to eat. Arizona had managed to hold onto about twenty bars; not much, but hopefully enough to keep the defense team on their feet until they could reestablish contact with Command. "Arizona, you go down to the inner sanctum and help the team down there figure out how to close these doors."

"You're welcome," Arizona muttered, but she obediently turned and walked further into the temple.

Carolina turned radioed York. Their communications seemed to work just fine as long as all points of contact were inside the temple, luckily. Something about the outer walls had to be blocking outside transmissions. "York, status."

It was a moment before York responded. _"We think we're getting close?"_ He didn't sound very confident. Carolina sighed.

"Arizona just arrived. I'm sending her down to help out."

_"_ _Wait, she's alive? After that destroyer crashed? Ah, I thought for sure I was gonna win that bet with Wash after all."_

"Focus, York. Covs are starting to send in heavy artillery. Arizona and Florida just took down a couple of Scarabs, but there are sure to be more. We need those doors closed now."

_"_ _Read you loud and clear, big boss lady."_

"Who are you calling big?"

_"_ _Uh, Agent York out."_

* * *

 

Alpha figured out how to close the doors in about five seconds.

Of course, figuring it out and actually getting his freaking host to understand were two entirely different battles.

Not that Arizona was stupid. Not as start as _him_ , obviously, but that was beside the point. Her intelligence wasn't the problem. The problem was her disability. Specifically, her biological body. Her squishy, slow brain simply couldn't fire fast enough for Alpha to properly convey what needed to be done.

The Director had warned him about this. The man had spent the better part of his life studying AI, so he understood better than most exactly what types of problems were likely to arise from implantation. But the Director also had a squishy human brain, so even he hadn't been able to adequately prepare Alpha for how incredibly _frustrating_ it was to work through such a medium.

At least he wasn't bored. Arizona's fractured personality kept him busy, although he had been with her long enough to allocate most of the necessary 'bridging' to subroutines. A week for him was like a year for a human. And even though he couldn't technically leave Arizona to be implanted into something else (her brain looked like someone had thrown a crazy frat party when he got back from Washington's suit, and he had _just_ gotten everything to the way he liked it. Oh, and she almost died, which he guessed wasn't ideal either), he was good at splitting himself. He had discovered quickly that he could still poke around in nearby computer systems without technically leaving Arizona's implants.

Of course, without having his core physically transferred, he was limited in what he could do. He wasn't actually _inside_ the systems; he was still viewing them from an outside window, still activating the correct controls instead of actually changing the controls like he had been able to do when he was integrated with the _Mother of Invention._ But he could do it a hell of a lot faster than a human could.

This new system was fascinating. Unlike any system he had encountered before. Not even purely Forerunner; the Director had brought some Forerunner toys aboard the MoI to develop some of the experimental armor enhancements, so Alpha was familiar with their systems. Not that the Director had called them 'toys' or technically given Alpha permission to play with them, but he didn't use any override codes to specifically _forbid_ Alpha from accessing the technology, so Alpha figured that was pretty much a green light.

But this system? This was something different. Like a hybrid between Forerunner and something he had never seen before. A synthesis between biology and technology. Controls that required human hands, physical human touch. It was amazing. He wanted to explore. He wanted to dive into the system, to poke and prod and experiment. It would be so easy to lose himself in his project.

 _Focus. You have to explain this to Arizona._ He sunk a little further into their connections, taking some of her urgency to direct him. It was hard to stay urgent when time moved so freaking _slowly._

So he tried to explain. He took control of their connection points, fired her neurons where he could, even used mundane _words_ to try to get her to understand the complexity of the system, the way electronics and biology played together to create something new and wonderful and amazing.

She told him she didn't speak computer and to hurry up and tell her what the hell she had to do. Told _him_. To hurry up.

Like she wasn't the one moving the speed of a disabled turtle.

She really was kind of a bitch.

Alpha rolled his eyes (okay, so maybe he didn't technically have a body and couldn't technically role his eyes, but he was copied after a human, so the sentiment was still there) and started a series of recursions. Eventually he would find the way to make Arizona understand.

He supposed he couldn't really be upset with her. Her poor brain was really trying. He could practically feel the strain surrounding the implants as she struggled to grasp his instructions.

 _'_ _Okay, you know what?'_ he finally told her, exasperated, _'I'm going to just take over your hands.'_

He had already started pressing on her motor cortex and had aligned himself with the thousands upon thousands of tiny pulsing neurons, ready to fire, by the time she formed a startled ' _what?'_

But he didn't stop to explain. He could probably take over her entire body if he wanted, but he had a suspicion she wouldn't like that. Just her hands, though? She was the one flooding his processors with urgency and fear, and Alpha had a solution to her problem, so she could just fucking deal with it.

He knew he had been successful _ages_ before the radio call came through confirming it, but he still waited to give Arizona back full control of his body before he was certain no security systems would reverse his work. He sank back a little, pulling away from the hybrid temple system and back into the implants.

Yes, Alpha was very good at splitting himself. But it sure as hell made him tired.


	24. The Temple

At first, Arizona thought that Alpha must have broken something when he released his control over her body. Something must have gone wrong with her vision, or her memory, or her general perception of reality.

Because nothing else could explain why, of all the Freelancers, _Wash_ was the one sitting in front of the section of the kill chute so cluttered with alien bodies that she couldn't even see the floor.

"Did we not…I thought we closed the doors," she said to no one in general, because there had definitely not been that many aliens when she left for the inner sanctum. Not even close.

And…it was _Wash._

_'_ _Um, yeah, I think you mean_ I _closed the doors,'_ Alpha interjected.

_York and the others got you started, you told me as much yourself._

_'_ _Okay, sure,_ they _helped. All you did was sit there and distract me with your completely unfounded panic.'_

_I walked you down there._

Alpha snorted. _'Great. My own fuckin' transport.'_

"Hell yeah, we closed the doors!" York responded triumphantly. He was trying to sidle up next to Carolina, who was pointedly walking between her teammates to check on them using the most obstacle-ridden pathways possible. It did very little to slow York's progress.

"Then what's with all the bodies?"

"Covs must have known we were getting close," Carolina answered, handing part of a ration bar to South, "because they started swarming the place. They didn't seem to care if they lost lives. They were just trying to overrun us."

"Didn't account for us having a human turret at the entrance," North said, nodding toward Wash. Arizona noticed he had several empty ammo crates around him, along with four or five battle rifles. C.T. was sitting near him. It seemed like they had set Wash up to continue shooting, with C.T. reloading the guns and switching them out for him.

Arizona whistled appreciatively. "Goddamn, kid," she muttered, walking toward Wash. She tapped her knuckles against his helmet. "Didn't realize you could cause such a bloodbath."

"I'm not a kid!" Wash huffed indignantly, in a tone that very much contrasted his statement.

She opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by deep rumble from the temple door. Automatically, all the Freelancers and most of the nearby soldiers raised their weapons, pointing toward the noise. There was another rumble, this time accompanied by slight shaking. _What the hell is going on?_

_'_ _Probably Scarabs firing on the door, trying to get inside,_ ' Alpha suggested.

_I thought they didn't want to risk damaging whatever was inside the temple._

_'_ _Whelp, apparently they decided it was worth a shot.'_ He fell silent as the temple shook again. _'Or, well, multiple shots.'_

"Well, Boss?" North asked, scanning the room as though trying to find an effective area to aim his sniper rifle at. The temple rumbled. "What's the plan?"

Carolina was surveying her surroundings carefully. Arizona could practically see her brain whirring, trying to come up with a plan. Alpha was noticeably unhelpful (not silent – he kept a running commentary on nearly everything and everybody – but unhelpful). "Okay…" Carolina muttered, more to herself than to her team. Dust shook from the ceiling. "Okay, we can figure this out. Let's try –"

_"_ _They're going to crush it!"_ a voice crackled over the radio. The Freelancers glanced at each other in confusion. It wasn't a voice anyone recognized, nor was it on any of their preprogramed channels. _Alpha, who is that?_

_'_ _Uh, one of the Spartan companies over at the north entrance,'_ he told her. _'They're on an open channel.'_

_Why would they be on an open channel?_

But before Alpha could respond, York figured it out. "Can we move the artifact?" he replied on the same frequency.

_'_ _They're hoping the Covs pick up the signal. They're trying to make it seem like the blasts are going to ruin whatever these guys were after.'_

_I thought we couldn't send any communications outside the temple._

_'_ _Not exactly._ Our _tech can't pick up any frequencies that are coming from inside the temple. That doesn't mean the Covenant can't, though. I mean, it's still kind of a long shot, but it's the best chance we have.'_

She listened as a few other soldiers got the idea and joined in. _"We have to try to move it!" "Maybe we can protect it?" "Careful, I think it's activating!"_

The temple rumbled again, dislodging a chunk of the ceiling. Most of the soldiers were able to jump out of the way. Most.

"This isn't working," Arizona muttered. York glanced at her.

"Alright, boys," he said, broadcasting over the open channel, "I say we destroy it."

There was a pause. _"You sure?"_ someone asked from the other end of the radio. They were either a really convincing actor, or they were legitimately uncertain, because their hesitation was so clear it made Arizona think that maybe the Spartans actually _did_ find an artifact. _'Nah, I would have picked it up,'_ Alpha assured her.

_"_ _Commander?"_

_"_ _Next hit this place takes, dismantle the artifact."_

They waited. It was a risk. If the Covenant decided to up their efforts to break into the temple before the humans could 'destroy' anything, they were screwed. But if the Covs fell for it, if they intercepted the transmission and stopped attacking, the inhabitants of New Harmony might have a chance.

A chance for what, though? They had lost contact with the fleet. And humans didn't win naval battles.

After nearly ten minutes of bated breath, Carolina spoke up. "We're clear," she said, shattering the silence. "Mission clocks set at twelve-forty-three."

_See? Ground battles take forever._

* * *

By eighteen hundred hours, it had become clear the Covenant weren't going to attack again. At least, not imminently. The Freelancers, both Agents and soldiers, held their position near the entrance, along with several other platoons of soldiers. Carolina had quickly taken control, ordering them to fortify their defenses and restock their ammo and med kits while they had time. She also set up sleep shifts, after North gently reminded her that many of them had been awake for over a day without stims.

Arizona was unloading an ammo crate and listening to Alpha. He was, if nothing else, a nice distraction. He talked about some of the memories that had been carried over when he was created, about the time his creator (whom he didn't name, so Arizona assumed Alpha either didn't know who it was or that the scan had been on the brain of a dead soldier) got into a fight with someone who had been too stupid to use a dumb AI. He was rescued by a beautiful, kick-ass soldier named…something. Alpha didn't say her name.

_'_ _She came along for the ride, you know. Well. My version of her.'_

_What?_

_'_ _When I was created,_ ' he clarified. She could practically feel the warmth oozing out of him. That was…different. Normally he oozed sarcasm, or assholishness. _'Her name is Beta.'_

_You created another AI?_

_'_ _Not…not quite. I mean, I guess I kind of gave her, like, her own entity, but she was always there. She was always a part of me.'_ He smiled fondly. He wasn't even projecting; she could actually _feel_ his smile, his warmth and happiness and love. That was really different for an AI. Leo never had anything like that; he didn't carry memories from his creator, so all of his friendships and relationships were a result of his own interactions with the world.

But Alpha… _you love her._ It was only a difficult emotion to pinpoint because it was such a foreign concept to Arizona. There wasn't a lot of time for love in a Spartan's world. Not romantic love, anyway. Not the mushy, heart-fluttering, consuming love Alpha clearly felt.

_'_ _Gee, what gave you the idea?'_ Ah, good. The sarcasm was back.

_So…what happened to her? I mean, she's clearly not here._

_'_ _Oh, I had to separate our coding before I could implant,'_ he explained. _'The Director knew you were getting worse and figured I could help, so he started prepping me. But if we were both present, it would have overloaded your brain. So I separated her from me. Well, I mean, I guess we more did it together. Director said he was going to work on giving her a body of her own. She's a very independent woman.'_

Arizona paused and sat back. He separated from Beta…for her? For her implantation? That was…that was…

_'_ _It's called gratitude,'_ Alpha supplied with some amusement. _'So, ya know. Feel free to express it.'_

_Why haven't you brought her up before?_

Alpha mentally shrugged. _'I don't know. I guess I didn't know how you would take it. Not a lot of humans really think of us as people, you know? Like, sentient, sure, but not people.'_

"Um…Zo?"

Arizona paused in her work and looked up, almost glad for the distraction. It felt…wrong, somehow, that Alpha had been separated from Beta because of her. "Yeah?" she said, looking around. Her eyes found North. He was sitting on one of the crates, pointing the medical scanner at her.

"I don't want to alarm you…"

"North," she cut him off, leaning back to sit on her heels, "starting a statement like that while scanning me is probably the single most efficient way to alarm me. Just spit it out."

He held up his hands in a sign of peace. "Okay, okay, take it easy. According to this thing, you seriously need some anti-inflammatories."

She frowned. "What for?"

"According to this thing you have…" he shook his head, as though not really believing the readout projecting into his helmet, "forty-seven fractures?" he muttered. "That can't be right."

Arizona stared at him for a moment. _Alpha?_

_'_ _Yup, it's accurate.'_

She wasn't exactly certain how to respond to his flippant tone. _What do you mean, it's accurate?_

_'_ _Uh, I mean you have forty-seven fractures. Mostly hairline. Technically, I think it's forty-eight, but one of them kinda runs into another one –'_

_Why the hell didn't you tell me?_

_'_ _I told you when you woke up!'_

_You just said a couple! Forty-seven is not a couple!_

_'_ _Calm down, geez. Only a couple of them require actual medical attention. The rest will heal on their own just fine, so I didn't bother pointing them out.'_

_Why don't I hurt more? Did the fall affect my spine?_

_'_ _Nah, nothing like that. I'm dulling your pain receptors.'_

_All the way?_

_'_ _Well…yeah. You told me to.'_

_WHEN?!_

Alpha was silent for a moment, seeming to retreat a little at her sudden mental outburst. It wasn't that she was angry at Alpha for blocking her pain – that was helpful – but without pain, she had no way of knowing the extent of her injuries. _We could have dropped Wash or Florida. We could have gotten half the team killed with that little stunt at the entrance if I didn't hold up,_ she tried to explain calmly. The 'calm' part wasn't working very well. _You have to keep me informed!_

_'_ _You were fine,'_ he replied, mental voice stuck somewhere between casual and offended. _'I would have told you if something wasn't going to work. Not that you would have listened.'_

"Zo?"

Arizona was brought out of her mental conversation when North approached her. "I'm okay," she responded automatically, because she honestly _felt_ okay. Yeah, sure, so maybe her armor was starting to feel a little tight, and her head was pounding, and actually now her limbs were on fire and holding up her own weight hurt like a bitch and – _okay, I never said to stop blocking the pain._

_'_ _Christ, you just whine all the time. And here I thought we were having a nice moment.'_ But he obediently refocused his energy on keeping her pain at bay.

"You don't look okay," North told her. He started rummaging through the medical supplies they had managed to collect, but most of it had already been used on the more obviously injured soldiers. He cursed softly, apparently not finding what he was looking for.

Arizona looked down at her fully armor-plated body. "You're right. Just look at this. This armor used to actually be a very pretty green, you know. Now it's just a mess."

"Not what I meant."

"Yeah? Well then how the hell do you know if _I_ look okay? Do I have a fucking pale demeanor or something?"

"Yes," he responded unapologetically. Alpha chuckled a little, before Arizona cut him off with a curt _I'm not done with you._ North leaned back from their pile of medical supplies and looked around, as though hoping the necessary injectors would simple materialize if he just _believed_ hard enough _._ "Crap. Okay. I'm going to see if I can find some medicine."

Arizona shrugged as he jogged away, casting her a few glances as he retreated into the crowd. She continued unpacking the ammo crates, trying to ignore Alpha's sulking. It didn't work very well. _So,_ she said slowly. Maybe a tiny little bit apologetically. Just a tiny bit, though. _What's Beta like?_

Alpha brightened instantly.

* * *

At twenty-six hundred on the mission clock, North was still gone and Arizona had a headache.

No, not a headache. A headache implied localized cranial pain. This _had_ to be a migraine. She never had one before, but there was no way this could be categorized as a simple headache. Her entire skull seemed to pulsate, blurring her vision. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears. If anything had been in her stomach, she would have thrown it up. Her limbs were weak and shaky and in pain – although, she admitted, that was more likely due to injury and lack of food.

The worst part was that Alpha couldn't help her. _This is what they were talking about when they said headaches,_ she vaguely realized. Everything Alpha was doing, every move or communication or calculation that went beyond the processors in her suit and hardware in her implants put a strain on her own physical brain. A brain that was accustomed enough to the presence of an AI that the headaches didn't manifest immediately after Alpha's implantation.

But Arizona had demanded much more of Alpha in the last day than she had ever demanded of Leo. She and Leo had never gone into an actual battle together. The amount of information Alpha had to process to be effective in combat assist was exponentially higher. And everything he had been doing in the background – keeping her pain receptors dulled, keeping their lines of communication open, analyzing their surroundings, monitoring her physical state, keeping the aspects connected – it was finally catching up.

He did what he could once they realized the source of her pain. He stopped talking to her, easing away from their connection points enough that his thought process took place almost entirely in the physical chip at the base of her neck. At her request, he stopped using her sensory inputs to watch the world, opting instead for the suit's readings. Eventually, she even asked him to stop dulling her pain receptors, because it was, ironically, causing her too much pain.

She was supposed to be keeping watch. Sitting on top of a stack of crates, keeping an eye on the surrounding soldiers to ensure their continued behavior. Apparently, Carolina didn't have much faith in 'normal' soldiers. Even though most 'normal' soldiers were much better behaved than her 'special' team of Freelancers. If anything, the Freelancers were the ones who needed babysitting.

_They're fucking adults,_ she decided, and curled forward to rest her pounding skull on her knees instead. She couldn't sleep. The stims hadn't worn off enough.

The sound of armored footsteps on the crates forced her eyes upward, but she quickly tucked her head back down as the light from the temple shone through her visor. Freaking alien light strips. "You're supposed to be staying still," she muttered.

"And you're supposed to be keeping watch," Washington replied, settling next to her. He didn't even groan, which meant he was either legitimately feeling better or in a lot of pain. Wash whined and complained up until the point when things were serious. Someone was shooting _at_ him? The whole fucking world was ending. Someone successfully shot him? Nah, he was fine. "Do you know how many fistfights I've had to break up in the last hour?"

She actually did look up at that, because Wash didn't really have the commanding presence to break up a fight. But then, she supposed as she studied him, that was at the Project. On the outside, he _looked_ like a badass Freelancer agent. His appearance might be enough to stop intersquad violence. As long as he didn't open his mouth, anyway. "How many fights have you broken up for me, then?"

"Well, none," he said, shifting into a more comfortable position, "but the point is, you didn't know. Because you aren't watching."

"Did you just come up here to heckle me?" she asked, curling tighter. Her head was killing her.

"I came up here to relieve you," he said dryly. "Oh, and to tell you to lie down. Those orders came from North. Apparently you are 'covering up injuries like Maine on a mission,'" he told her in a surprisingly accurate imitation of North. "Which means you're probably dying, so I figured I would relieve you. So you don't die."

"That motherfucker," Arizona muttered, and Wash laughed.

"He's so pissed off right now," he told her cheerfully. "Seriously. I've been listening to his audio feed for the last hour. Apparently he's made his way across the entire temple twice and no one is willing to give him a single freaking bottle of ibuprofen."

Arizona couldn't help but chuckle lowly. "Can North get pissed off? Is that a physically possible thing?"

"Oh yeah," Wash responded, casually popping the mag out of his rifle and popping it back in without actually looking at it. Actually, he was looking at her. With that little head tilt. The one that usually meant…

"Did you know that you're actually more of a mother hen than North is?" she grumbled.

"What? No! I…I'm not…North is…" Wash verbally flailed in an incredibly Wash-like manner.

Arizona curled inward again. As much fun as it was to make fun of the rookie, the way his voice rose several octaves under duress was not helping her migraine. "Why are you here, Washington?"

He didn't answer right away. That either meant he was thinking about her question or had started focusing intently on something entirely unrelated to the conversation. After a moment, she looked up, eyes scanning the area below to see what had caught his attention. Other than the normal movements of tired troops, nothing of particular note was happening.

She was so focused on finding a nonexistent source of commotion that she almost missed his answer.

"Because I got a second chance."

* * *

At thirty-three hundred, Arizona was startled awake by the sound on a loud _thunk_ a few feet away from her head.

"You have," North said, plunking down next to her, "no idea. How. Fucking. Long. That just took."

Arizona shifted, propping herself up on one elbow before realizing, nope, okay, that hurt way too much. Yup, laying on the ground was just fine. Alpha wasn't doing anything with her pain receptors anymore. It helped with her migraine, at least. "Did you just get back?"

North leaned back, sprawling out on the ground next to her. "Yes." He had a box in his hand – standard civilian medical kit, from the looks of it. "You would think people would be more vested in keeping the soldiers protecting them alive."

"Is he bitching again?" Arizona tilted her helmet toward the sound of the newest voice. An upside-down South was walking toward them.

"Yup," Arizona informed her, rolling over so that South was no longer upside-down.

North snorted indignantly. "Some people would say thank you," he said as South plucked the kit out of his hands and opened it.

"Some people don't try to poison their teammates," South retorted, looking at the box's contents.

North sat up immediately. "What?"

His sister held out a giant bottle. "Aspirin," she told him, tossing the bottle unceremoniously to the side. "Aspirin, aspirin, more aspirin…" she muttered as she rifled through the kit. She shook her head. "I mean, we can stuff the rookie full of this shit, but if your goal was to save this old crone then you kinda fucked up."

"Hey. I'm not a crone," Arizona responded without any heat.

"See?" South said, and Arizona could hear the grin in her voice. "Even she knows she's old."

"As fucking dirt," Arizona confirmed. "Hey, give some of that to Florida before he slits my throat, would you?"

"Nah, Wyoming would snipe me," South said conversationally as she plopped down. North was looking between them, and if a helmet could look confused, North's helmet was utterly bewildered.

"Wyoming? You kidding me? If that would kill anyone, it's definitely Wyoming," Arizona told her. She pushed herself up, tone turning serious. "Carolina could probably use some, though. I know she took a couple of pretty bad hits."

South tilted her head, thinking. "Yo, Carolina!" she called loudly. "How old are you?"

Carolina looked at them from her perch near the entrance. _"Why?"_ she asked, responding over the radio rather than screaming back at them.

"We got aspirin, Zo says you got fucked up," South explained eloquently.

_"_ _Oh. Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm below the cutoff."_

North looked between them. "Okay," he said after a minute. "I'm lost. What cutoff?"

South rolled her eyes. Arizona knew, because South had such a powerful eye roll it actually generated its own gravitational field and forced her entire head to roll with it. That was a scientifically proven fact. "And people think I'm the dumb twin," she muttered. "Stim shots," she said a little more loudly, as if that clearly explained everything.

It didn't. "Um…"

"Stim shots have a lot of adverse side effects," Arizona explained. "At least, the ones the UNSC uses for their special ops teams. One of those side effects is the development of aspirin allergies. That usually doesn't become a problem until a soldier is in their thirties, but the UNSC recommends a cutoff age of twenty-eight."

"Another is that carrots taste fucking awful," South provided analytically.

"Oh yeah," North said thoughtfully. "I remember reading something about that. Well, damn. Sorry, Zo." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and a little irritated. "Figures the one med kit I can get is full of poison."

Arizona shrugged, watching as Carolina hauled Wash over and ordered him to medicate. When he made a weak protest, she ordered him at gunpoint. "It's fine," she told North.

She was used to pain.

* * *

She wasn't, admittedly, used to hunger.

And by forty-two hundred, everyone was hungry.

It was to be expected. Nearly two days on nothing but half a ration bar wasn't really fine dining, and they had been a lot more focused on getting civilians into the temple than the supplies to outlast a siege. But the fact that it was to be expected didn't do much to help tensions.

There were arguments over who the limited food rations should go to. To the children, someone said. And because the collective of people in the temple weren't monsters, the general consensus had been yes, to the children. But how much? What level of hunger was acceptable to inflict upon children? Survival, not comfort, had to be the priority.

And after the children? Did the sick and injured get to eat next? Or did they accept the fact that the injured were no longer an asset, and instead focus on feeding those people who were most needed? Doctors, engineers, soldiers…if survival was the goal, then it was really a math problem. A simple analysis. Those who had the most to immediately offer should get the supplies. Should be allowed to eat.

But humans weren't just numbers. They were people with families, with individual survival instincts, who would not simply lie down and die because they did not fall into the constricted category of 'necessary.' So, of course, they fought. And suddenly, the soldiers had to try to keep order amongst the civilians without becoming the enemy themselves.

Without thinking too hard about the fact that _they_ were the ones with guns, after all.

Arizona prodded Alpha back to the forefront of her mind temporarily to have him run the probabilities, have him analyze the situation and suggest a solution. People weren't numbers, but AI's were. Maybe he could look at it with a different viewpoint.

He could. Several viewpoints. He ran simulations, assigning 'points' to people based on their likelihood to be an asset, the moral obligation to keep them alive, and the potential fallout of _not_ feeding them. Regardless of his value system, regardless of the parameters, the situation wasn't good. Their strongest soldiers – the Spartan III's – were dropping. Fading faster from lack of food than other soldiers, because they were genetically programmed to heal faster, to move faster, to _use_ their body's resources. Arizona could feel it herself. She knew what was happening. Knew she was starving.

If they didn't get out soon, they were all going to starve.

But the Covenant was still surrounding the temple. Even without communications, they could feel the reverberations as Scarabs circled the parameter. If they focused on keeping the largest number of people alive for the shortest period of time, Alpha said they had approximately two more days before people actually started dying.

* * *

At fifty-six hundred, a large portion of the civilian population was getting sick.

The soldiers were spared, they eventually figured out, because most of them were equipped with survival suits. And even the ones that were no longer able to properly seal did a decent job of filtering the surrounding air.

The civilians had no such luck. And the dead – and there were plenty of dead – were starting to decompose, sending a gut-wrenching stench through the entire temple. The best solution was to move the bodies to one of the lower levels of the temple and seal it off, and under the orders of the General, the soldiers started moving through the civilians and taking away the corpses.

Carolina split the Freelancers into teams, pairing them together with whoever was closest in height. It made carrying bodies between them easier. Under normal circumstances, each Freelancer could probably have hauled one or two bodies on their own with the assistance of power armor. But everyone was weaker than usual, and besides, they needed the partnerships for their own protection. Not everyone was happy about watching the bodies of their loved ones being hauled away like poisonous trash.

Arizona and Florida were walking along a row of prone forms, scanning to see who was still alive, when someone screamed nearby. They both immediately shifted into a defensive position, backs to one another and raising their guns (Florida had made it quite clear that he was no longer angry with Arizona, which she didn't believe for a second, but decided to trust him temporarily anyway) as they scanned the area for the disruption.

_'_ _Oh no.'_ Alpha had poked through into her consciousness when her internal threat level increased, analyzing the area for enemy movement and potential resources to use in the event of a fight. He found the problem before she did, and nudged her vision in the right direction. She suddenly understood the general ill feeling emanating from her AI.

The squad that had taken down the Scarab earlier was nearby, most of them paused in their work and crouching in combat-ready positions. Locus was kneeling on the ground, cradling something gently, as McScouty – _Felix,_ her brain supplied belatedly – stood in front of him, holding a man back.

"Get your filthy hands off her, you animals!" the man screamed, flailing uselessly against Felix's armored form. "Give me back my daughter! You can't take my daughter!"

"Oh, god," Arizona gasped as Locus stood.

He had the body of a little girl in his arms. Well, what was left of her. She was missing an arm and half her face, and what remained was covered in plasma burns. She had clearly been dead for several days. Her corpse was starting to rot.

Felix was speaking to the man in low tones, but Arizona couldn't hear what he said. What she did see, however, was the man grabbing a combat knife off Felix's belt.

"Felix!" Locus shouted in warning as the manic father plunged the knife toward Felix's neck.

Arizona raised her gun, drowning Alpha's sudden warning that this was a _civilian,_ but Felix was faster. There was a flash and a loud _bang,_ amplified by the temple's acoustics, and the man fell heavily to the floor. Felix redirected the pistol from his blown out skull to the shocked crowd surrounding them. "Anyone else want to donate their rations?" he asked coldly.

"We're a team, Arizona," Florida muttered softly behind her as the crowd's shock slowly gave way to anger. "Remember that. You and I are a team."

She heard the meaning clearly enough. And she agreed, although Alpha didn't. She raised her gun.

* * *

Seventy-three hours, forty-six minutes, and sixteen seconds after the Freelancers synced their mission clocks and jumped into Pelicans to try to save New Harmony, the Covenant broke through the southern wall of the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, ladies and gents, is a wrap on part one of the Fragments series. I would like to thank all of the lovely readers who left kudos or comments – you guys all helped motivate me to keep going!
> 
> Looking at my (admittedly rough) outline for the remainder of this story, I am thinking two more parts of approximately equal length. So keep an eye out, and in the meantime enjoy S14! ;)
> 
> -bunnies

**Author's Note:**

> I love questions. Please ask any and all questions. If they are not answered within the story, or the answer is not a spoiler, I will answer. Even if I have to make up an answer. :)


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